Misconceptions
by Coffee-Flavored Fate
Summary: In which Romano jumps to conclusions, and America goes along for the ride. They'll get it sorted out eventually, right? M for language, sexual situations. Romano/America. Amateur M writer, be warned!
1. A First Time for Everything

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.**

_**Warnings:** This is my very first attempt at writing...well, this sort of thing. You know, sex. So...forgive my inexperience. I'll get better with practice, I promise. _

_For sakerat, in thanks for all your support and insight. _

* * *

It's late -so late it's early- and America is standing in front of his house in England, carrying a heavily intoxicated South Italy in his arms while he tries to find his keys.

They're in England because England is hosting the latest round of meetings, and South Italy is intoxicated because several of the nations had decided to go out for drinks after today's meeting had adjourned. America's there because England and France had dragged him out to the bar ("It's _pub_." England's voice says in his head, "Learn to speak English."). Spain and Prussia had arrived a few minutes later, and along with France proceeded to put on a show that would not soon be forgotten by anyone there.

After a few hours of raising hell, the trio decided to quit the bar for greener, less traumatized pastures. By that time England, unsurprisingly, was utterly pissed, sprawled half on the bar and half across several stools, head pillowed on a bottle and clinging to his pint glass as if it was best friend, muttering something about frogs and green bunnies.

America, having been nursing the same beer all night, was prepared to go back to his place and crash when he'd noticed South Italy sitting alone at a table in the corner, head pillowed in his arms and quite obviously extremely trashed. The half-nation had arrived with Spain (read: dragged along kicking and screaming), but he'd disappeared pretty quickly, so America'd assumed he'd left. It looked like Romano had just found a way to give the trio the slip and hidden out in the corner. He was a little surprised, really. It was unusual that either France or Spain let either of the Italys out of their grasp once they had one. They acted like the Italy brothers were God's gift to sex, or something.

Still, it wasn't safe for the half-nation to stay here all by himself, especially in his current state. Though fiery, he wasn't very strong, and could easily get into trouble around here if he was alone and incapacitated.

Well, lucky for him the Hero was on the job. America would be sure to get him home safe and sound. He'd approached the other's table, prodding his shoulder to wake him up.

"Hey. Hey, Romano Italy, where are you staying? We should get you back. It's pretty late."

"'M fine, bastard, lemme alone." He'd slurred, barely stirring.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Romano."

"I said I'm fine, dammit."

America looked around and sighed. Obviously this was going nowhere. Well, the half-nation could always crash at his place (he'd kept a small house in England for decades, for when he was visiting or attending meetings). "Okay, you're fine." he'd humoured, leaning down to pull Romano's arm over his shoulder, hoisting the smaller nation to his feet. "You're very fine. In fact, you're so fine, I'm taking you home with me, okay?" He could give up his bed for tonight, it's not like he hadn't done it before. The couch was comfortable enough, anyway.

Romano blinked muzzily and nodded. "Yeah, sure. Whatever, bastard."

He'd managed to guide the intoxicated Italian out of the tavern and halfway down the street before deciding that it was going to take forever trying to walk this way, and scooped the smaller nation up, carrying him instead. Romano'd instinctively wrapped his arms around his neck, resting his head on the taller nation's shoulder, his breath hot and alchohol-scented on America's neck.

Shifting the half-nation into a more comfortable position, America looked around, getting his bearings. The nice thing about England's hosting the meetings was that it was a lot easier to find your way around when all the signs are written in English. He was in luck- his place wasn't that far from here.

15 minutes later, and here he was, on his doorstep fumbling for his keys and trying not to wake the half-nation in his arms. Not actually an unusual experience when he was in England, really; between England and France he'd been in a similar situation almost countless times. Thanks to that, he manages to get the door open fairly quickly, without disturbing his latest impromptu guest.

As he made his way up the stairs to the bedroom, Romano stirred, lifting his head and blinking sleepily. "Hey, bastard, where are we?" he asked.

"My place." America answered readily."Hold tight, gonna get you to bed in a sec, 'kay?"

"Oh, right." The half nation stretched his limbs and yawned, tongue curling like a cat's. America grinned- that was kind of cute. He pushed open the door to the bedroom, and set Romano down, standing him next to the dresser.

"Wait there, I'll have it ready in a sec." he instructed, and went to the closet for extra blankets and pillows. He grabbed a few extra pillows, considering. The bed already had a couple, but maybe Romano would want to have more, just in case. France liked to have at least 6, he knew. He wasn't sure about Spain, but the nation liked to sleep alot, so maybe? Hm. "Hey, Romano," he started, turning around to ask. The half-nation was standing at the foot of the bed, unbuckling his slacks.

Romano looked over at the blond and frowned irritably. "What are you still doing dressed, dammit?" he asked, kicking his socks off.

"What?" America was taken aback. He looked down at himself, confused."Why wouldn't I be?"

"It'll be kind of hard to do this if you're not naked, bastard."

"...What?"

Romano looked at him like he was being intentionally obtuse. "_Sex_, idiot. That's why I'm here, right? Hurry up, dammit, I don't have all night." Tired of waiting for the blond to do it himself, he reached out and yanked the other nation over by his tie, holding it like a leash while he rapidly undid the buttons of America's dress shirt with his free hand. America was impressed.

"That was pretty cool! How'd you do that so fast?"

"You never stop talking, do you?" The Italian grumbled, unbuckling the taller nation's belt and flicking open his zipper in one smooth movement. America's eyes widened as he realized his situation.

"Wait, hang on, thi-" His protests were cut off, his breath stolen by Romano's mouth and hands on his torso.

"If you think" Romano started, pushing him back onto the bed and straddling him,"that you are going to be on top, bastard, think again."

"Uh."America answered, finding it very hard to think at _all_ with the way Romano was touching him, "N-no, I..."

"Shut up." the half-nation ordered, nipping at his collarbone, fingertips exploring the nation's torso.

"B-but-" America moaned, head falling back, "t-this isn't-"

"Not up for discussion." he interrupted, licking a swathe up the column of America's neck, illiciting a moan."Besides, you moan like a girl anyway, bastard."

"H-hey." the blond protested, biting back another moan as the Italian's tongue found a sensitive spot below his ear.

"It wouldn't kill you to touch me, bastard." he responded, grazing his teeth against the spot. America's hands found his hips, gripping reflexively, and he sighed. He knew America was probably used to topping his lovers (and damn didn't he feel sorry for those poor bastards, whoever they were), but surely he had _some _idea of what he was supposed to do? Hadn't France taught him _anything_? No, from the looks of it he'd learned all his 'skills' from England. Wasn't _that_ grand. At least the nation was extremely responsive. He could always teach him the rest along the way.

Sliding a hand up America's arm to cover one of the hands on his hips, he pulled it loose. "Like this." he instructed, grazing his lips over the shell of the other's ear as he guided America's hand over his body."Just...explore." he released the nation's hand, which hesitantly travelled his skin. "Mmm. Use your fingers," he illustrated, splaying one hand over America's ribcage, flowing over the outlines of each rib, the dips and swells between them. "your palms," settling his other hand over America's hipbone, pressing the heel of his palm into the abdominal muscles there with a gentle twist of the wrist, causing them to flutter and America to bite his lip with low moan, trying not to arch off the bed, "fingertips," he added, taking a soft earlobe between his teeth, and tracing patterns across the nation's taut stomach, drawing teasing circles around the other's navel, dipping inside; "your whole hand." he stroked a path down America's hip to his upper thigh, nuzzling his jawline. "Got it, bastard?"

"Nnn, think so." America nodded, already mimicking the other's actions. Romano had to hand it to him, he was a fast learner. It wasn't long before he was eagerly mapping the Italian's skin, illiciting shivers and moans of pleasure of his own. After a while, though, the half-nation pulled back, sitting on his haunches. With a whimper of dismay, America regarded him in confusion. "Something wrong?"

Romano reached down to tug on the waistband of America's slacks, and flick the hem of his open shirt. "Clothes off, idiot."

"Oh." America smiled sheepishly, shrugging off the shirt and lifting his hips to wriggle out of the pants.

"Boxers, too."

"Ah." The blond blushed, obediently sliding them off and dropping them on the floor with everything else. "All good?" The half-nation's brows rose, very glad of his decision to top. He wanted to be able to walk tomorrow, dammit.

"Tie, idiot." Romano was all he said, leaning over to slip the knot free. America laughed, laying back down and tugging on Romano's wrist.

"Okay, done, c'mon."

"Eager, aren't we, bastard?" he smirked, settling back over the blond, taking his lips in a kiss, reaching up to grab a couple of pillows. Moving his lips over the other's in a slow caress, he slid a hand under America's lower back, urging him to lift his hips, wedging the pillows underneath when the other did so. He transferred his lips to the blond's neck, tipping his chin back for better access, and reached into the bedside table drawer, searching for a familiar tube or bottle. America's fingers quested his stomach.

"I'm...unh..kind of on an...incline, here." America remarked, shivering as a warm tongue caressed heated skin.

"You're taller than I am, bastard. I need the leverage." Romano answered against his skin, sinking his teeth into the junction between neck and shoulder. In the drawer, his search was coming up blank. "Where's your lube?"

"Uh...d-mmm," America sighed, "don't have any."

Romano pulled back, looking at him incredulously. What, did he take his partners raw? Inconsiderate bastard. He felt even sorrier for the idiot's previous lovers.

America shifted uncomfortably under the half-nation's stare. "Um...can't we just use spit, or something?"

"Spit's a shit lubricant, idiot. Hurts like hell." he sighed at the other's abashed look. "Don't you have some lotion or something? Oil, anything like that."

"There's the oil I use to clean my gun." America offered hopefully. "I always keep some in my pocket, there." he indicated his discarded slacks. Romano snorted. That figured. Retrieving it, he emptied some in his palm, rubbing it through his fingers. Oh yeah, this would work nicely. He emptied the bottle into his hands, liberally applying it to both hands and slicking it over his hitherto neglected erection. America watched with wide eyes, pressing his knees tightly together. "Uh." he said, and swallowed. "Um, is that going to go where I think it is?"

Romano gave him a dry look. "That _is_ how this works, yes."

"Uh. I don't think it'll fit." he said, worrying his lip nervously. His brows furrowed. "Wait, I thought you guys were supposed to be...um...small." he said uncertainly.

Romano looked down at himself, tossing the empty bottle aside. He shrugged. "I've always taken more after my mom's side of the family." He moved back over the other nation, leaning in for a kiss. America's lips were stiff against his, his body tense under his fingertips. He pulled back from the kiss to see America looking nervous and a little scared. He sighed, rolling his eyes. "Hey. Bastard. Relax."

"I _am_ relaxed." America defended, pouting. "I'm totally relaxed. This isn't going to hurt, right?"

"Of course it is, idiot. Haven't you ever done this before?"

"No, _duh_."

Romano shook his head. Trust America to _always_ have to be on top. Still, the nation was so obviously nervous that he couldn't help feeling a little bad for him. He sighed again, deeply. "Look." he said, running his hands down America's arms. "It's not like I'm just gonna shove it in without warning, bastard. I'll prepare you properly and everything, okay?"

The blond worried his lip again, considering. Romano reached up to cup his chin, stroking his thumb over the American's abused lower lip. "It'll be a while before we get to that point, anyway. You've enjoyed everything up 'til now, right, idiot?" America nodded, lips curling up. "I'm going to make you feel _real_ good, bastard. You're in the best hands in the world, here." He assured smugly, moving his hand round to cup the back of the nation's neck, leaning in to brush his lips softly over the other's, slow and sweet, coaxing. Slowly, America relaxed, melting under his touch.

"Okay." he murmured against Romano's mouth."I'll trust you, Romano."

"Damn right." Romano smirked. He wasn't one of the best lovers in the world for nothing, dammit. He stroked his tongue over the other's bottom lip, letting his free hand wander over the blond's heated skin. Touch slowly turned from soothing to teasing, kiss from soft to heated, as he dipped his tongue inside, stroking the blond's tongue with his own, tangling his fingers through golden hair, and soon America was flushed and moaning underneath him. He shifted, parting the other's legs with one of his own, settling in between them. Nibbling America's lower lip, he brushed the back of his hand up the length of America's shaft, palming the head. America trembled and bucked, pressing a hand against Romano's shoulder as he tried to shift to gain the leverage to roll them both over. _Not gonna happen, fucker._ Quickly, Romano hooked an arm underneath the blond's left knee, shrugging the leg over his shoulder, and leaned down to bite America's neck, lathing his tongue, hot and wet, over the other's pulse point, causing the blond to moan loudly, reflexively turning his head to the side in a more submissive posture. America's hand on his shoulder slid up to cup the back of his neck, urging him on. Deciding it was time to up the ante, he pressed a slick finger to America's entrance, circling the sensitive area. America's breath caught in his throat. _"Oh_." he panted, eyes closing. That felt a lot better than he'd have imagined. He moved his other leg to the side, giving Romano better access.

Romano smirked victoriously against the soft skin of his neck. _Damn_ right, bastard. He worked his way down the other's neck, curling his tongue into the dip between his collarbones. Nipping at smooth skin, he curled his other hand around America's hard shaft, squeezing firmly. America bucked a little and whimpered, and he took the opportunity to slide his finger into the other nation, distracting him with a few slow strokes to sensitive flesh that had America panting heavily, begging Romano to go faster. "Mmm, nope." he responded lazily, stilling the hand on America's cock and lowering his head to take a pebbled nipple between his teeth. His other finger moved deep inside the other, subtly searching. He ran his thumb up the side of the hard shaft, flicking his tongue across the crest of the nipple. Then he found it- that spot that made the other nation arch off the bed with a shuddering gasp. He smiled in satisfaction. _Bingo_. He released all hold on the blond, sitting back on his knees between the other's legs.

America blinked after him, panting slightly. What the hell was that? And where was Romano going? Wait- when had Romano managed to slip a finger in _there_? He'd totally missed that, somehow. "When did you-" he gasped, arching off the bed with a cry. _"Holy shit."_ he panted, twisting his fingers into the sheet, holding on for dear life. That felt _incredible._

"You like that, bastard?" Romano smirked from his position between the nation's legs.

America nodded emphatically. "Oh yeah." he panted. "Definitely good. Oh_, fuck!" _he shouted, arching back again.

"Mm, not yet." Romano responded, moving forward to hover over the younger nation, his other hand braced against the mattress near the American's hip for support. "Hold on tight, bastard." With that perfunctory warning, he began his assault on America's prostate gland. America writhed, swearing furiously.

"Fuckfuckfuck_fuckfuck_ohhhhfuck_yesss_," he gasped, draping a leg over the Italian to pull him closer.

"Ah-ah-ah, no." Romano stopped, and America whimpered. "Leg down, bastard, or we stop."

"_Fuck_." America bit his lip, and took a deep breath, trembling all over. Romano started to pull out. "Nonono please, wait." Covering his eyes with an arm, he slowly released the other, knees up, both legs spread. "Okay." he breathed.

The half-nation rewarded him by resuming his assault, sending the other into a state of sustained pleasure until he came with a cry a few moments later, arching off the bed and grabbing the headboard for support. It snapped in half with a crack like a gunshot.

"Holy _shit!_" Romano yelped, ducking behind America's leg, heart racing. The nation in question lay panting for a few moments, before he noticed the broken half of of headboard held in his hand.

"Whoops." he said, unconcerned, and tossed it to the floor. It dropped like a rock, scoring the wood floor.

"'_Whoops'?" _The half-nation repeated, aghast. "That's _solid oak_, isn't it?" He moved up to the remaining headboard to examine it, spreading his fingers across the span. "That is _four fucking inches _of_ solid oak. _That is not 'Whoops', dammit. That is _'holy fucking shit'_."

"It's okay, I've never liked it anyway."America half-shrugged, glancing idly at the slab of wood on the floor and swiping a few stray locks of hair out of his face. "I only kept it 'cause England gave it to me when I moved in. Now I have an excuse to toss it out."

"It's...buh...you...it's not a matter of whether you _liked_ it or not, idiot. You just _snapped_ a four-inch-thick headboard of _solid oak_ because you _came."_

_"_Heh, yeah. That was awesome." America blushed, smiling happily. "So...you think we could get back to that?" He asked hopefully.

Romano gaped at him, and looked at the broken slab under his hand. He wasn't sure whether to be terrified or incredibly turned on. As it turned out, he was a little of both. His eyes narrowed, considering. "Alright, bastard." he said, running his hand contemplatively over the break. "But, new rule- no touching me."

America pouted. "That's no fair. Touching you is one of the best parts."

Romano blushed, but stood firm. "You want to touch me; I want to live. I win, bastard."

The blond crossed his arms, sulking. "I wouldn't hurt you."

"Tell that to the headboard, dammit."

"That was an accident." America protested. "Besides, it's only wood."

"Yeah, well I don't want to be your next 'accident', dammit." Romano argued back."And if you haven't noticed, bastard, I'm a lot softer than wood."

"Heheh, yeah." America grinned, running a hand through his hair. "That's one of the reasons I want to touch you."

Romano hit him with a pillow. "I'm serious, bastard. Either you agree not to touch me or we tie your hands."

"Alright, alright, fine. I won't touch you." America agreed, pouting. "Can we please continue, now?"

The half-nation hesitated. "Hands down, first." he ordered. America rolled his eyes, but obliged, dropping his arms to his sides. Romano shook his head. "Nope, spread 'em. I want to be able to see 'em at all times, bastard."

America spread his arms out to the sides, fingers splayed across the sheets. "This is kind of silly, but okay."

"I like living, jerk." he answered, warily approaching the prone nation, who chuckled.

"What's life with out a little risk?" he asked, winking.

"This is as risky as I'm willing to get, thanks, dammit." He crept around the other's legs, watching him like a cat watches an unknown creature, not sure if it's safe to get close or if it'll leap up and devour him at any moment.

Slowly, cautiously, he settled in between the other's spread legs, one hand placed carefully on one of the other's thighs, the other resting gingerly on one of America's hips, still propped up on the pillows. America watched all this, lips twitching in amusement. They stared at each other, neither moving, for several moments.

"BOO!" America yelled, sitting up.

"YIIEE!" Romano screamed, frantically scrabbling backwards, toppling off the bed.

"Holy crap, that was awesome!" America collapsed onto the bed, laughing maniacally. "'Yiiee~ 'bam!'" he gasped, between peals of laughter. "Oh, oh, ow, hahahaha!" he rolled onto his side, arms curled around his stomach.

Romano scrambled up from the floor, flushed red and furious. "You _asshole!"_ He yelled, grabbing a pillow and trying to beat the other senseless with it. "_Chigi!_ You gods-damned son of a _bitch!"_

"Ow, ow, hey, hahahahaha! Hey!" America sat up, still laughing, trying to shield himself from the assault. "C'mon, you gotta admit that was funny."

"I'll show you funny, bastard." Romano growled, tackling the taller nation to the bed. America yelped in surprise, falling back against the sheets, arms spread, laughing.

"Alright, Romano." he chuckled. "You've got me where you want me. Now what?"

"Now I teach you why you don't fuck with an Italian, bastard." Romano answered, wrapping a hand around the American's neck.

"Mm, alright." America smiled, lifting his chin."I'm totally at your mercy. Do your worst."

Taken aback, Romano stroked his thumb down the tendons in the blond's neck. Most nations in this situation would be putting up at least a token struggle, or tensing up- they couldn't help it, it was in their nature. America, though, was completely relaxed underneath him, blue eyes bright and trusting. He pressed his other hand to America's chest, feeling his heartbeat steady under his palm. He swallowed, hard. Having so much power and strength spread out underneath him, yielding to him completely, was...was...intensely arousing, actually.

America found himself mesmerized by the way the half-nation was looking at him. Heated and hungry, it was making him feel flushed and hot all over. He could feel himself hardening, his cock twitching against his stomach. He flushed further, arching up against Romano, who slid his hand 'round to cup the back of his neck, leaning down to claim his lips in a deep, hungry kiss.

Romano kissed him like he was drinking him in; like he'd wandered the desert for forty years and was finally tasting the milk and honey of the Promised Land, deep and languorous, savouring every moment. America moaned, trembling with excitement, his veins filling with a tingling fire which rapidly spread throughout his body. Could a nation be conquered with a kiss? If so, Romano was well on his way to conquering him. His fingers twisted in the sheets, itching to touch the other's skin, to feel his heat and fire beneath his fingers. Finally Romano broke the kiss, sliding down his body, dragging his tongue through the sticky mess on America's taut stomach. The blond groaned- that was the hottest thing he'd ever seen. Romano licked his lips, spreading his fingers through the pearly substance, dragging them down through it, over the nation's abdomen, to grip his inner thighs, lowering his head to swipe his tongue along the underside of America's cock, base to tip, in one long, slow lick, eyes locked with the taller nation's. He blew gently on the tip, sliding his hand up a creamy thigh and over, to press a finger deep inside the other's entrance, and lapped at the weeping slit of America's erection as another finger joined the first in preparing the nation. Lowering his eyelids, he took the thick head between parted lips, cupping the sensitive flesh with his tongue, toying with it, now circling it wetly, now flickering across it, smiling victoriously when America couldn't stand it anymore, head falling back against the bed, hands fisting the sheets, pleading "_Ro-ma-no."_

Deciding to be merciful, in one smooth, steady movement, he took the full length of America's cock into his mouth, down his throat. America swore furiously, and Romano chuckled inwardly, taking the opportunity to add a third finger to the others already stretching the blond. America grunted in a mixture of discomfort and pleasure, squirming slightly.

Romano twisted his fingers inside the other. America was tight, too tight. He'd loosened considerably since before, and he was relaxed, but his passage still gripped his fingers tightly, so tightly they were in danger of losing all feeling. Pulling back, he bit his lip, considering. Adding another finger wouldn't help. No matter what, this was going to hurt- both of them, but if he was careful, and patient...with one last twist, he withdrew his fingers, and took hold of his cock, positioning himself at the other's entrance. His other hand squeezed America's thigh, and he locked eyes with the blond. "I'm going to enter you now, bastard. This is going to hurt, no matter how I do it, but I'm going to try and make it as painless as possible, okay? I need you to stay relaxed. Can you do that for me?"

America's eyes flickered, and he bit his lip, but nodded. Romano nodded once, and stroked the other's thigh soothingly. "Eyes on me, alright? Take slow, deep breaths, and if you need to, you can wiggle your toes, that should help." America flexed his toes into the sheets. "That's right, bastard."

Slowly, Romano guided himself into the blond, pressing the thick head of his cock through the tight ring of muscle. America's breath caught, and Romano squeezed his thigh. "Deep breaths, idiot." The nation's chest rose and fell steadily, as America obediently resumed his breathing. Romano resumed his penetration, pressing deeper into the narrow passage. Once he was a few inches in, he released his hold on his cock, and shifted to run his hands up and down the inside of the other's thighs, which were trembling. "You alright, bastard?"

America nodded, swallowing. "It, uh...it's not so bad. It hurts, a bit, but...mostly, it just feels...wierd." he replied, shakily.

Romano nodded. "It helps that you're staying relaxed. You're doing fine, bastard." His hands slid up to grip the other's hips. "This next part is going to hurt, but I promise, it will get better, okay?"

America nodded. "'Kay." he breathed.

"You ready, dammit?"

"Do it."

Romano gripped the other's hips tightly, and drove himself to the hilt inside the other nation. America threw his head back, a pained whine escaping him. Romano's own head fell back, and he swore. "Shit." Too tight, too tight, too tight. _Shit_. He gritted his teeth, and forced himself to relax, taking a deep, shuddering breath.

He panted, looking to America, whose head was still arched back, eyes shut tight, face screwed up into a pained grimace. His entire body was tense, and he was holding his breath. "America. America, I need you to relax, bastard. You need to relax."

"I'm _trying_." America replied raggedly, throat working, muscles tight. "_Hurts_." he forced out through clenched teeth. Romano moved up to press his forehead to the the blond's, petting his hair soothingly.

"I know." he answered shakily. "I know. Just breathe. Just breathe, idiot." America took a deep, shuddering breath. "Good." he praised, continuing to run his hand through the other's hair. "Like that."

"_Romano_." America whimpered.

"Shhh." He soothed, nuzzling America's temple, his cheekbone, his nose. "Shh, I know. You're alright, bastard." He cupped the back of the other's head, his fingers massaging the nape of his neck. "It'll get better, I promise." He pressed a slow, chaste kiss to the other's lips.

America nodded. "I know." he responded, against Romano's mouth. "I trust you." Romano groaned, his cock pulsing deep inside the other nation. He pressed himself flush against America, bringing both hands to cup the blond's face, sliding to tangle through his hair as he deepened the kiss. He plundered the nation's mouth, delving deep, drinking him in. He brought one hand down between them to rest on the other's chest, pressing against his heart, feeling the beat quicken against his palm. He felt America's erection- which had flagged during the pain of penetration- begin to harden against his stomach, and the blond moaned into his mouth. He pulled back, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the corner of America's mouth, his jawline. The hand which cupped America's head slid down the blond's shoulder, his arm, slowly caressing his torso. Romano lowered his head to flick his tongue over America's ear, nuzzling it, nipping at the sensitive skin just below the blond's earlobe. America tilted his head to the side to give him better access, and he took full advantage, assaulting the blond's neck with teeth and lips and tongue. Slowly he began to gyrate his hips- moving himself inside the other, but not yet in and out, simply rotating himself inside, opening the blond further. America tensed a bit at first, but slowly began to move against the half nation, tentatively lifting his hips. "Mm, good." Romano encouraged, stroking a hand down the length of America's body, sliding it under to grasp the nation's taut ass, squeezing it, brushing his lips over the shell of America's ear. "Feel me inside you." he murmured, lowly. "Filling you, making you mine." he curled his tongue around the plump lobe, sucking it into his mouth. "I can make you feel _so good._"

America groaned, parting his legs further and lifting his hips in offering, the movement sliding Romano in deeper still. "Oh, _yes_." Romano moaned. "_So_ good, dammit." Slowly, he began to thrust- shallowly at first, accustoming America to the movement, and gradually pulling out farther and sliding in faster with each thrust. America caught on quickly, moving to meet his thrusts, hungrily taking him in, moaning with each deep penetration. Soon Romano pushed his upper body up off the other for better leverage, gripping the blond's hips, fucking him into the bed. America cried out, trembling, the change in angle grazing his prostate with each thrust, the mixture of pain and intense pleasure setting him writhing.

"Please, Romano, please." he begged, not sure what he was begging for. More? Release? He didn't want this to end, but he could feel his end approaching fast. "Please, Romano, I..."

Whatever it was, Romano seemed to know, because he looped an arm under America's leg, opening him wide, and leaned forward, bending him almost double. He snaked a hand behind America's head, twisting his fingers tightly through his hair, pulling him up for a rough kiss. His thrusts slowed in speed but increased in force, each driving the head of his cock directly into America's prostate, and overwhelmed by the sensation, America came, hard, harder than he ever had in his _life_, hot, milky liquid spurting out in rapid jets, covering them both in pearly strands.

The tight heat of America's passage, muscles fluttering around him in climax, gripping him tightly, milking him, was enough to send Romano over the edge, and he quickly followed, releasing himself inside the powerful nation.

They both lay like that, spent and panting, for several moments. Eventually Romano released America's leg, lowering the taller nation back to the bed, sprawling across the blond in a slow collapse. America's legs slid to tangle with his. Romano's head lay on the blond's chest, and he blinked slowly, listening to the steady heartbeat. "Can I touch you now?" America asked, tiredly.

"Sure, bastard. Whatever." Romano answered, utterly drained. America draped an arm loosely around his waist, and both nations' eyes slowly drifted closed as they succumbed to their exhaustion, claimed by sleep.

* * *

_AN: It's not done yet, folks. _

_I don't know how Romano ended up on top, but I'm not arguing. As a fellow top, I applaud his initiative. Way to go, little wolf. Show 'em how it's done. _


	2. Make Rome Proud

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, and after reading this aren't you grateful. :p**

_No sex in this bit, sorry. _

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Romano woke several hours later, hot and sticky and dry-mouthed. He groaned. He didn't want to get up, he was _comfortable_, dammit. But he was thirsty and _damn_ he had to piss. Reluctantly, he lifted his head, blinking sandy eyes. He frowned. What the hell? Why was he curled around America? He never cuddled, dammit. Especially not one-night stands. He just never felt comfortable letting people get that close. For some reason it always irritated the hell out of him when anyone tried. Others' touch made him tense and unable to sleep. But here he'd been, wrapped around the blond and he'd slept like the dead. He must have been really fuckin' exhausted. He pushed himself up on his hands, and looked down when he seemed oddly heavier than usual- what the hell? He hadn't even noticed that America's arms were draped around his waist and shoulders, holding him close. He blinked in confusion, looking down further. America's soft inner thigh was pressed against his hip, and their legs were tangled together, and...and..._he was still inside America_.

He blinked slowly, several times, in slow realization- not only was he still inside the other nation, but he'd _come_ inside America_. _He hadn't used a condom_. He was __**fucking sleeping**_- actual sleep, not just sex- with America. Most of all- _he was still here_. He'd broken almost _all_ of his one-night stand rules.

The wierdest part of it all was that he didn't really care. He should be freaking out right now- grabbing his clothes and running screaming down the street. But all he really wanted to do was lay back down and fall back asleep.

Well, that and piss like a racehorse, he realized as his bladder throbbed, reminding him why he'd woken in the first place. He sighed, shrugging off America's hold and pushing himself up on all fours, with a little shiver and a hiss as he pulled out of the sleeping nation. He rolled off the bed and staggered across the room, stopping halfway when it hit him that he had no idea where the restroom was.

" 'Mano?"

He turned to see America blinking sleepily at him from where he lay sprawled on the bed. "Bathroom, bastard?" he asked.

"Mh." America answered, understanding, and waved at a door next to the dresser that Romano had assumed led to a closet. Well, that was convenient. He grunted his thanks, and America nodded, eyes closing with a sigh.

When he exited a few minutes later, having relieved himself, cleaned up and had a long drink from the faucet, America was still half-awake, staring dazedly at nothing in particular, having pushed himself up on his elbows. Romano tossed him the moistened handtowel he'd grabbed from the bathroom. "Here, clean yourself up, bastard."

America blinked at it. "Oh, thanks." He picked it up, yawning, and began to towel himself off. "That's pretty considerate of you, Romano."

"Don't read anything into it, bastard." Romano grunted, and made his way over to the pile of clothes on the floor, rifling through it for his pants. Time for him to get on his way. As wierdly comfortable as all this had been, rules were rules for a reason, dammit.

America huffed a little in amusement. "I won't." he tossed the towel into the hamper in the still-open closet and tilted his head to watch Romano curiously. Romano made a little sound in the back of his throat, having found his pants. "So..." America started, a little anxiously, "Was it... okay?"

"What okay, bastard?" Romano asked, not really listening. He rubbed at a stain on the pocket of his slacks, frowning. Was that oil? Stupid Prussia and his ballistic fish and chips episode.

"The _sex_, duh." America answered, rolling his eyes. "Was it okay? Did I do it right?"

Romano glanced briefly at the other, quirking a brow. "Why are you asking me, idiot? You should know, it's not like you're a total virgin." He answered flippantly, returning his attention to his slacks. Seriously, if that was oil, he was going to kill Prussia. It would take forever to...get... ou...he stilled. _Fuck_.

Slowly, he turned. America was blushing, eyes averted, toying with the corner of the pillow above his head.

_Fuckfuck__**fuck**_**. **Things started to click into place. America's reluctance to undress, his protests when Romano'd pushed him to the bed, the lack of lube, the blond's complete and utter cluelessness and obvious inexperience..._shit_.

His slacks dropped to the floor, forgotten, as he raised a trembling hand to point at America. "_Bullshit. _No _way_ are you a virgin, dammit."

"Well." America bit his lip and looked down, smiling bashfully. "Not anymore, yeah."

Romano started to hyperventilate. Why didn't he realize it sooner? All the signs were there. Sure, he was drunk at first, but he was definitely sober after the headboard incident.

"Uh, Romano? Are you okay? You look a little...pale."

Why hadn't he seen...? He'd just glossed over all the little signs, explaining them away in his head..._shit._ He'd just devirginized a world power. Wait, wait- America had been trying to stop him, hadn't he? Frantically he thought back. Oh _shit_. He'd _forced _himself on a _world power._

"Romano...?" America pushed himself back up on his elbows, frowning in concern. The half-nation didn't seem to be listening.

Drunk or not, there was no excuse for that. Feliciano would be so disappointed in him. _He_ was disappointed in _himself_. Grandpa Rome would- well, would have cheered him on, probably, but all of that didn't matter, because _he was going to die_. He shuddered, backing up 'til his back hit the wall, and slid to the floor, hands fisting his hair. He was in _so_ _much_ _trouble_.

"Romano?"

"Oh God, I'm going to _die_." he moaned, terrified. "England is going to _kill _me. _You're _going to kill me. _Canada's_ going to kill me. Then England's going to to kill me _again_. He's going to grind me into peices and feed me to his invisible friends. He's going to tie me up and give me to _France_." he shuddered, eyes wide. "Oh _shit_, he's going to make me_ eat his food."_

"Romano, what are you talking about? Nobody's going to kill anybody. I-" he cut off with a pained whine, frozen in the act of sitting up. "Ow, ow ow." he whimpered, wincing.

Romano was hit with a tidal wave of guilt. "Don't try to sit up, bastard."

"Ngh." America groaned, and shook his head to clear it. "I'm okay." he gasped through clenched teeth as he pushed himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. "Really."

"No you're not, bastard, anyone can see that." Romano argued, standing up and hesitantly taking a step toward the other, further waves of guilt crashing over him.

"Yes I am." America argued back, wincing. "You're the one that's freaking out. What's the matter? Was it me? Did I do something wrong?" He asked, a little anxiously.

Romano gaped at him. "_America."_ he stated, incredulously. _"_I just _took_ your _virginity."_

America's brows furrowed in confusion. He didn't see the problem. "Yes, Romano." he answered, slowly. "I know- I was there."

"Doesn't that bother you, dammit?"

"Why should it?" This conversation was really confusing."It's not like you forced me."

Romano paused. "I...didn't?" he asked, cautiously.

America gave him a disbelieving look. "_No_. Is that what this is about?" He exhaled and rolled his eyes. "Romano, c'mere." He held out a hand.

Romano regarded it warily. "Why?"

America huffed, exasperated. "Just trust me, okay? I'm not going to hurt you." When the half-nation still hesitated, he added, "C'mon. I trusted you, remember? I think that worked out pretty well for me." He grinned, blushing a little, and wiggled his fingers encouragingly.

Romano blushed. "Alright bastard. But this better not be a trick." He grumbled, and approached the bed. As he drew closer, he noticed blood spotting the sheets where America had lain, and his stomach dropped, the waves of guilt back in full force.

"Romano?" America prompted, and sighed. The Italian had that deer-in-headlights look again, eyes focused on something behind him. He shook his head, reaching up to cup the side of the other's face, turning it to face him. "Romano, look at me." He urged.

The half-nation's eyes met his, then slid away, brimming with tears. Inhaling raggedly, closed his eyes, and they spilled down his flushed cheeks. His hand gripped America's wrist tightly. "God, bastard, I'm so sorry." he sobbed.

America couldn't help himself- he started to laugh. "What are you laughing about, bastard?" Romano demanded, voice rough with emotion. He sniffed, hard, and leaned forward to drop his head on America's shoulder, sobbing into his neck, and pounded on the blond's chest with his free hand. "It's not _funny, _dammit. I, I-"

"Shhh, shh." America soothed, chuckling as he wrapped an arm around Romano's waist, stroking the back of the distraught nation's head. "It's _alright, _alright? You didn't do anything wrong, okay?" He turned his head to press a kiss to the other's temple.

"What are you _talking_ about, bastard?" the other argued,"I-"

"You didn't force me." America interrupted. Taking the other's shoulders, he pushed the half-nation back, taking his face in both hands, forcing him to look him straight in the eyes. "Romano, listen to me. _You didn't force me_."

Romano hiccuped, hands coming up to grip America's wrists tightly. "You promise, bastard?" He asked, urgently.

"You didn't force me." America repeated, brushing away a lingering tear with the pad of his thumb. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and he glanced at the nightstand.

"Here, give me your hand." He said, releasing Romano's face and taking the half-nation's right hand in his, turning it palm up. He leaned over, wincing slightly, to grab something from his nightstand, and turned back to Romano. "Watch." he ordered, and opened his hand to reveal a solid glass sphere, about the size of a golf ball, in his palm. "You see this?" he asked, and Romano nodded. America rolled his eyes. "Another present from England. Oh well." He closed his hand, clenching his fist briefly. "Paying attention?" he asked. Again Romano nodded hesitantly, not sure where this was going. America brought his closed fist over the Italian's upturned hand, and slowly opened it, pouring a stream of glass dust into the Italian's palm. Romano's eyes widened in shock. _Holy shit_. "You see?" America asked, smiling triumphantly.

Romano stared at the pile of dust in his hand. "You're...going to grind me to powder?"

"What? No!" America pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed. "_No_. My _point_ is that if I had _wanted_ to stop you, I could have at any time. You can't _force_ me to do anything. Okay? And anyway," he added, "you gave me plenty of opportunities to say no. You were very considerate, okay? I went along with it because I _wanted_ to. _Not _because I was forced or coerced or whatever. Got it?"

Romano looked at the powder he still held, and at America, and tried not to look at the blood on the sheets. "Really?" he asked.

"_Really_." America insisted, and smiled, a little embarrassed. "Not exactly how I expected to lose my virginity, but I've got no complaints."

"Heh." Romano huffed, closing his hand around the dust. "Of course not, bastard. I'm _damn_ good at what I do."

America grinned, amused. "Taking the virginity of unsuspecting nations is what you do? I thought that was France's job."

Romano blushed. "S-shut up, bastard!"

The blond laughed. "Now that that's settled, can we go back to bed? I don't know about you, but I'm wiped out. And kind of sore." he added, wincing.

"Actually, I should get going." Romano answered reluctantly, looking around the floor for his dropped pants. "I've already been here too long."

"Why? You got somewhere you need to be?" America asked curiously.

"No, I just never stick around after one-ni-" he stopped as a thought occurred to him. "Wait a second, if you didn't bring me here for sex, then what were you going to do with me?"

America shrugged, idly crossing his ankles. "I wasn't going to do anything with you. I just didn't think it was safe for you alone and drunk out there, so I was going to let you crash here. I thought I'd be sleeping on the couch, though."

Romano facepalmed, the guilt creeping back in. _Dammit_, he was too tired for this shit. Giving up, he turned around. "Move over, asshole. I'm coming back to bed."

"'Kay!" America scooted back, and Romano tried hard not to notice his pained hiss as he settled back down. "'M kinda glad you're staying. I was _not_ looking forward to walking you home." The blond said sleepily, yawning.

"What-" Romano started, and stopped with a sigh. Too tired, dammit, he was too tired. He crawled in next to the American, reaching over to pull the covers up around them both.

"Thanks." America sighed, draping an arm around Romano's waist (Romano didn't protest, because he was really tired, dammit. It wasn't that it felt kind of nice, or anything).

"This doesn't mean anything, bastard." Romano muttered, as he curled back up in America's arms.

"'M'kay." The blond agreed, already half asleep.

When America awoke later that morning, he was not entirely surprised to find Romano long gone. He was, however, grateful to find a glass of water and painkillers sitting on the nightstand, and pleasantly surprised to find coffee already made in the kitchen and breakfast wrapped and waiting on the kitchen table. There was a note stuck to the wrapping, which he read as he ate.

_Bastard;_

_Thanks._

_Don't read anything into this, alright? It doesn't mean anything. _

_Don't tell anyone about last night, either. Or else._

_P.S. You need to get some better coffee. The stuff you have is shit._

America shrugged, finishing off the last of his omelette. It'd always been good enough for him. Coffee was coffee, wasn't it? And it wasn't like he'd planned on telling anyone anyway. His sex life was no-one else's business. Dropping the dirty dishes in the sink, he glanced at the clock, and went to shower and get ready for the day's meeting.

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_AN: Romano's right about America's coffee. :/ _


	3. To Tell or Not to Tell

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.**

_Still no sex, but hey. There's talking. That's almost as good, right? *cough*_

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Romano stretched languidly as he walked down the street. _Damn_ he felt good. The sun was shining (a rare occurrence in England), the air was fresh and clear, and even the chirping and twittering of the birds in the trees wasn't irritating him as usual. He'd had the best night's sleep in he didn't know _how_ long. He'd woken in America's arms, his own head on the blond's chest, his arm wrapped around the other's waist, leg draped over his hips, feeling completely and utterly relaxed. He felt too good to even muster up the customary panic- yeah, sure, England would probably kill him if he ever found out, along with half a dozen other nations, but he really didn't give a damn right now. So he may have potentially triggered World War III in America's bed, so what? The sex was great, the sleep was great and dammit, he just felt great.

Plus- he gloated victoriously, executing a little step-spin-hip snap dance move of celebration- _he'd scored the virginity of a world power_. Oh yeah. South Italy had been _first_, dammit. England and countless others had been chasing that ass since America had hit puberty, but _Romano_ had been the first to plunder those virgin shores. _Fuck_ yeah. Not surprising, really, if you thought about it- America always did want the best of everything, after all. And when it came to lovers, leather, and fast cars, you couldn't do better than Italian.

To be honest, he had to admit he was a little surprised England hadn't managed it. He'd thought the brow-bastard would've been a shoe-in. Everyone was sure those two were at it like rabbits, what with how the Brit was always nagging at the American like an angry fishwife. He acted like they were already married. Though if he hadn't managed to score America's ass in the centuries he'd been around the younger nation, then it was his own damn fault. No wonder the island nation was such a bitter old goat. _Damn_. He almost felt sorry for the sexually-frustrated bastard. Or might have if he wasn't too busy gloating. Haha, world- South Italy scored the winning goal! Suck on that, you bastards. He wished he could rub it in their faces. But, he wanted to live, so...oh well. He'd just savour his victory privately. He just hoped the blond idiot would be able to keep his mouth shut.

He caught sight of his brother about to enter the building where the meeting was being held, along with the potato-bastard. "Hey!" he shouted. They turned, and he jogged to catch up, grabbing his brother's arm and dragging him inside. "I'm taking Feliciano, potato bastard." He informed Germany, shouting over his shoulder as they left, "And stay away from my brother, jerk!"

"Ve~, that wasn't very nice, Romano~." Feliciano scolded. "And where are you taking me?" He asked, as his brother pulled him into a utility closet. Romano closed the door behind them, and turned around, slapping a hand over his brother's mouth.

"You cannot tell _anyone_ what I'm about to tell you. Got it, idiot?"

Felciano nodded, eyes wide.

"_No-one. _Not Germany, not Japan, and _especially_ not France. Or England. _Nobody_, understand?"

The younger Italy peeled his brother's hand from his mouth. "Oh God, who did you kill?"

"What? No! No, nothing like that."

Feliciano visibily relaxed. "Then what's going on? Are we stealing the gelato again?" he asked, curiously.

"I'm going to tell you, but first you _need_ to promise you _won't tell anyone_, okay, bastard?"

North Italy nodded eagerly. "I promise, Romano~!"

"_Swear_. You _can't tell anyone_, this is _important_."

The younger raised his hand, anxious and excited now. "I swear! I won't tell anyone, ve~!"

"Good." Romano nodded, satisfied, and exhaled. He looked around to make sure no-one was hiding in the closet with them, and leaned forward, to whisper in his brother's ear. "_I scored America's virginity last night."_

His brother, who had leaned forward eagerly, leaned back again, brows furrowed in confusion. "America's a virgin? Ve~, but I thought, England?"

"Nope." Romano gloated, crossing his arms and puffing out his chest. "He never did. And neither did America. _Until_ last night."

_"No." _Felciano gasped, covering his mouth with both hands, eyes wide in shocked disbelief.

"_Yes._" Grinned Romano, gratified by his brother's response. "All me, baby. South Italy sailed those virgin seas and rode that sweet ass into submission. I got there _first_! Me, _Romano_! Haha!"

His brother gasped again, clapping his hands together and bouncing excitedly. "Romano that's _wonderful!_ This is amazing! I can't believe it!" He hugged Romano tightly."You and America! I'm so happy! You'll make the cutest couple! I can't wait to tell Germany!" he squealed, releasing Romano and darting for the door.

"_No!_" Romano tackled his brother to the floor, sitting on his chest and covering his mouth. "You _can't tell anybody!_ You promised! England would kill me! And we're not together." He added. "It was just a one-night stand."

Feliciano frowned, reaching up to peel his brother's hands away again. "What? Does America know?"

"Of course, dammit! I told him, after."

North Italy's frown deepened. "You told him _after? After_ you took his virginity, you told him it was a one-night thing?"

Romano folded his arms defensively, and looked away. "I-it wasn't like that, idiot. I didn't know he was a virgin at first, dammit."

His brother sighed. "Ve~, maybe you'd better start at the beginning."

"Yeah, alright, dammit." Romano agreed, scrambling off of his brother to sit on the floor. Feliciano pushed himself up to sit across from him.

Romano summed up the events of the previous night (leaving out some of the more...intimate details), His brother listened carefully, with the occasional nod or "Ve~.'" to show that he understood.

"A solid glass ball? Really?" He asked, after a few moments of silent contemplation when Romano had finished.

"Yep. Powder."

"Ve~." His brother shook his head, impressed. "You're right. Grandpa Rome would be proud."

"I know, right? Too bad the old bastard's dead." Romano replied, wrapping his arms around his knees. "Only thing I've ever done that he would be proud of, and it's another nation."

"Ve~, you know he loved you, too, Romano." Feliciano responded, frowning sadly. Romano just snorted.

"So..." Feliciano continued after a moment. "What was it like?" He asked eagerly, leaning in conspiratorially.

"What was what like, bastard?" Romano asked, avoiding his brother's gaze with a blush. Feliciano rolled his eyes, exasperated.

"Ve~, _you_ know. Come _on._ It's _America. _You _have_ to share _something_." He said, nudging his brother's shoulder insistently. The corner of Romano's mouth turned up.

"Honestly?"

"Honestly."

"_Amazing_." Romano groaned, head falling back. "Tight, responsive, eager, and _damn_ he learns fast. He picked things up like _that_." He snapped his fingers. "And _so _damn sweet. And honest..." he trailed off, lost in thoughts of trusting blue eyes, soft lips, a warm, yielding nation underneath him, wrapped around him...

"Romano, you're _smiling_." Feliciano observed in amazement. "_Really_ smiling! I haven't seen you smile like that in forever~!"

"W-what?" Romano blushed, shaken from his reverie. "N-no I'm not! Shut up!"

"Ve~, you smiled!" Feliciano beamed, throwing his arms around his brother's shoulders. "You did!" His eyes widened in realization. "You _like_ him!"

"G-get off me!" Romano barked, shoving his brother away. "No I don't!"

"Yes you do! You like America!"

"I do not!"

"You dooo~!" Feliciano grinned, tackling his brother.

"Don't!" Romano argued, wrestling his brother to the floor, pinning his shoulders down."I _don't like him, _okay? The sex was just...really good. That's it, dammit. It didn't mean anything, okay? Just sex, idiot."

Feliano sighed. "Ve~, okay. You don't like him."

"Damn right." Romano nodded, releasing his brother. Feliciano sat up, brushing off his clothes. "Okay. So it didn't mean anything to you." he said, settling back down next to his brother. "But, are you sure it didn't mean anything to America?"

"What? No. Why would it?" Romano asked dismissively, brushing the dirt off his knees. "I told him it didn't, and he was cool with it."

"_Romano_." Feliciano replied exasperatedly. "It was his _virginity_. That's a pretty big deal."

Romano hesitated. "Well...he's American. You know what they're like. It probably doesn't mean the same thing to him. Hell, he was probably the only virgin left in America."

"Maybe." Feliciano said doubtfully.

"He was totally fine with it, dammit. It was just sex, okay? Really good sex, but just sex."

"Ve~, okay, Romano. If you say so." Feliciano agreed reluctantly.

"Damn right."

"But..." Feliciano started, hesitantly. "but, if it was just sex, why you? Why last night?"

"What are you talking about, idiot?" Romano asked. He crossed his arms, eyes narrowing. "And what's wrong with me, dammit?"

"_Nothing's _wrong with you, Romano~. That's not what I meant." Feliciano shifted. "Ve~, its just...I don't know, strange, don't you think?" He glanced at his brother, who just frowned, not seeing his point. He pursed his lips, searching for words. "Ve~, it's true America's young, but he's still been 'old enough' for like, a couple centuries, now, right? He must have had plenty of opportunities to lose his virginity?" Seeing his brother considering this, he continued, "I mean, we've _all_ had fantasies about him from time to time. Even _Germany's_ thought about it. And you _know_ England's been interested for_ever_. _France_ helped raise him. Then there's Russia, and Japan, and who knows how many others. Even I've hit on him a few times, ve~. Somebody's _had_ to have tried by now, right? So...why was he still a virgin?"

Romano frowned. That was...a damn good question, actually. He shifted uncomfortably. "H-how am I supposed to know, bastard? It's not like we talked about it. Hell, I didn't even _know_ he was a virgin until after, dammit."

"Yeah, but...don't you think it's a little strange? Why you, and why last night? There has to be a reason, ve~."

"No there doesn't, dammit. It's not like he was saving himself for 'the one' or anything, alright? He probably just...didn't...I don't know why, okay? But it doesn't mean it _means_ anything. Maybe he was just ready, alright, dammit?"

"Ve~, maybe." Feliciano conceded doubtfully.

"Definitely." Romano stated, definitively. "Just sex, dammit."

Feliciano fidgeted with the hem of his jacket. "What if it wasn't?"

"What?"

"Well, what if America feels differently?" His brother asked, insistent. "I mean, Romano- it was his _virginity_."

Romano pinched the bridge of his nose, frustrated. "I _know_, Feliciano, I _took_ it. I fucked him into the bed, it was great, it was his first time, and I _didn't know_, dammit. Alright? _I_ _didn't know._"

North Italy blinked, a little taken aback by his brother's tone. "...does it bother you? That you didn't know?"

The muscles in Romano's jaw flexed, and he stared at his hands. "A little." he confessed."I mean." he stopped, and exhaled, twisting his fingers idly, "Dammit. I don't know. I probably would have done things a little differently, if I had known. Maybe. Dammit, it's...I mean, it was his _first time_. I would have...I don't know, dammit. Maybe I wouldn't have done it at all." He rubbed his face, frustrated. _"_I don't know, dammit_."_

"Oh, Romano." Feliciano sighed, wrapping his arms around his brother, resting his head on the other's shoulder.

Romano leaned against his brother, swallowing the rising guilt. "He said it was okay, though. That I didn't do anything wrong. He, uh...he said I was considerate." He confessed, quietly. His hand slipped into his pocket, his voice dropping to a whisper. "He said I didn't do anything wrong."

"Of _course_ you didn't, ve~" Feliciano assured, pressing a kiss to his brother's temple. "You're very sweet. You're one of the most considerate people I know~, Romano."

"Get off me, idiot." Romano growled, slapping a hand over his brother's face and pushing him off, blushing. "You don't know what you're talking about, dammit. I am not'_sweet_'. _Ever_." He settled back with his arms around his legs again, adding, "And it didn't mean anything."

"Ve~." Feliciano smiled, leaning back against his brother, who huffed, but didn't protest. "Would it be so bad, Romano?" He asked, after another few moments.

"What, idiot?"

"You know. If...if it meant something. I mean," he hastened to add, as his brother's jaw started to clench, "I want to see you happy, Romano. And, well, America seems like a nice guy. Would it really be so bad?"

Romano scowled, shoulders hunching. "Yes, it would, dammit. That's the last thing I need, some lovesick moron following me around thinking we're 'destined to be' or some stupid shit like that. It didn't mean anything. It was _just_ _sex_. And besides," he added, toying with the cuff of his sleeve, twisting the material, "you know I don't believe in love, Feli."

"Ve~." Feliciano sighed, resting his chin on his brother's shoulder. "I know, Lovi. I know. But you'll be kind to him, if he does? You'll let him down gently?"

"I'll tell him the truth, dammit. That's the kindest thing I could do. But it won't be an issue. He doesn't, okay? It didn't mean anything to him, either. It was just sex. We enjoyed it, and it's over, and that's it, dammit. He knows that, and he's fine with it."

"If you say so." Feliciano agreed.

"I do, dammit."

"Alright, ve~." Feliciano sat up and stretched. "We should probably get to the meeting, now~." Romano nodded, and they helped each other up. As they reached the door, Feliciano grinned, bumping his brother's shoulder with his own. "_Still_, ve~. _America_. Way to go, Romano!"

"Haha, damn right." Smirked Romano, and opened the door. "And remember," he reminded as they left the closet. "You can't tell anybody, dammit!_"_

_"_Ve~, I won't! I promise!" Feliciano reassured him, bouncing down the hall. "I'm going to find Germany. I'll see you in the meeting room, ve~!"

"Righ-ahh!" Romano jumped as an arm closed around his neck from behind.

"Heyyy South Italyyy!" Prussia greeted, pulling the Italian back against himself. "Question for ya!"

"Get off me, asshole!" Romano growled, shoving his hand in Prussia's face, simultaniously relieved that it wasn't England and irritated as hell at the East German nation. "You're paying my dry-cleaning bill for last night, jerkoff." He added, brushing the taint of Prussia off his clothes.

"Yeah, whatever." Prussia waved dismissively, and grinned. "More importantly, have you seen America anywhere?"

_Oh shit. "_Why would I have seen America?" He asked, covering his nervousness by pretending to be occupied with straightening out the wrinkles in his clothes.

"Just thought you might have seen him, South! He usually gets here pretty early." Prussia answered, looking around as if America would spontaneously materialize out of thin air.

"Yeah, well, I haven't, dammit. So get out of my face and go bother someone else." Romano huffed, relieved. So Prussia didn't know anything. He was safe, yet.

"Aw, don't be like that, Roma! I can't help it if you can't handle my awesome self. And you'll never _guess_ what these awesome ears happened to overhear." Prussia smirked, throwing his arm around Romano's shoulders again and leaning in conspiratorially. "England and America aren't together!"

"Why should I care, jackass?" Romano asked sharply, leaning away, trepidation rising again.

Prussia raised an eyebrow incredulously. "Are you kidding? You know what that means- America's _available_. That ass is up for grabs. And the awesome me is gonna get a peice of the action, if you know what I mean. Those vital regions are gonna belong to Prussia by the end of the day. I'm gonna make him _beg_ for mercy." He winked, and groped the struggling Italian. "Wanna join, South? There's enough of my awesome self to go around."

"Get the fuck _off_ me, asshole!" Romano snarled, slamming his head back into the other's face and turning to kick him in the stomach when he staggered back. "I don't give a shit what you do, you damn pervert, but leave me out of it!"

"You say that, South, but you know you want it." Prussia leered, rubbing his stomach where he'd been kicked, and reached for Romano's curl. "It doesn't take much, does it? You're such a little whore."

"_Don't touch me, asshole!_" Romano screamed, slapping Prussia's hand away and ducking out of reach. "Just stay the fuck away!" Hyperventilating, he plastered himself against the wall, snarling, ready to run.

"Whatever, South. I've got other fish to fry, anyway." Prussia gestured dismissively, grinning. "If you don't want it, I'm sure America will. Just gotta find the idiot." He waved as he trotted off. "Lemme know when you change your mind~. Got a pair of handcuffs with your name on 'em, South!"

"Don't hold your breath, asshole!" Romano called after him, pushing himself off of the wall. He shook himself and shuddered. Sometimes Prussia was okay, but sometimes he got like..._this_. When there was something or someone to conquer or to get competitive over, he reverted to his _old_ ways- raze, loot, ravage, take what you want without mercy or quarter. And if France, Spain, Hungary or Germany weren't around to keep him in line at those times, well, it was best to steer clear until it all blew over. Luckily he wasn't the subject of the East German's focus, this time. His stomach twisted a little when he thought of who _was_. His hand slipped into his pocket, closing around the small silk bag inside which held the glass dust from the night before. America could take care of himself, he reassured himself. He'd be fine, right? He pushed down the rising uneasiness. It wasn't any of his business, anyway. He didn't have anything to do with it.

He took a deep breath and exhaled, pulling his hand from his pocket, running it through his hair. He'd better get to the conference room. Feliciano would be waiting, and he needed to warn him that Prussia was on the prowl.

* * *

Several hours earlier, England and France (both nursing hangovers) watched in bemusement as America breezed into the breakroom with a stack of files, humming. "Hmmhm, hmmm~, God shed his grace on thee,~" he sang, pouring himself a cup and bouncing lightly on his toes. He turned, tossing the files on the table and pulling out a chair, spinning it with a little flourish before sitting down. Two sets of eyebrows raised. "Good morning~!" he greeted them cheerfully. "It's an awesome morning, isn't it?"

"What the bloody hell are you so cheerful about?" England grumbled, dropping his aching head in his hands.

America grinned, taking a sip of his coffee and opening his files. "Do I have to have a reason? Haven't you ever just woken up and just felt amazing? Sometimes you just know it's going to be an awesome day!"

England lifted his head to stare at him blearily. "You're insane. You've finally cracked. France, America's gone bonkers. Completely 'round the bend. Better warn the others before the madness spreads."

France, whose mouth had slowly dropped open during this whole exchange, gasped. "You got _laid_!" he said with an incredulous smile.

America laughed, and England sputtered furiously. "What? Don't be ridiculous, you damned frog! Who would sleep with this idiot?"

"That's right- I'm going to die bitter and alone like you, old man~!" America laughed, leaning across the table to poke England's cheek with his pen. The Brit slapped it away, blushing and fuming.

"Get that out of my face, you bloody git! I am _not_ bitter and alone! I just have _standards! _Unlike_ some _people." He sneered at France, crossing his arms.

"Ohh~, did you go home with someone else last night, France?" America asked France, raising an eyebrow. He nodded, lips pursed in pseudo-understanding. "I see, I see- that's why Iggy's in such a bad mood."

France grinned, throwing his arms around England's neck. "Is that what's got your panties in a twist, _Angleterre_? If you wanted my company that badly you had only to ask~! Let's slip into the closet right now and I'll make it up to you~."

"Get off of me, you bloody ass! Don't say things like that, you pervert!" England fumed, blushing. He glanced surreptitiously at America, and shoved France off. "People will get the wrong idea!"

"You should take him up on that offer, Iggy!" America teased, grinning."Maybe getting laid would pull that stick out of your ass."

"I, I, you idiot! I do _not_ need to get laid! And certainly not with the frog!" The Briton slammed his hand on the table, leaning forward. "Watch your bloody language!" He huffed, and flushed, adding, "Besides, if I _were_ to be interested in...that...sort of thing, I, I...it'd have to be somebody..._special_..." He averted his eyes, blushing deeper.

America spluttered into his coffee. "Wha-, ha! Hahaha, England, you really are old-fashioned! That's so _stupid!_ You can't wait forever for things that'll never happen! No wonder you're such an old stick! _Damn_, you're more hopeless than I thought! Haha, that's hilarious!" He laughed, pounding the table. "Oh, oh, _man_."

He stood and went around the table to throw an arm around England's shoulder, leaning in with a sharp grin. "Since you don't have any friends, I'll give you some advice- don't waste your time waiting for the impossible, Iggy. Someone like you should take what you can get, you know? Or you really will die alone~." He chuckled, poking England's cheek for emphasis.

England paled, his jaw going slack, as he turned big, hurt eyes on America. "Wha-...yo-...why..."

"Haha!" America laughed, stepping back, arms spread. "You see, I knew this day would be great. No matter what happens from here on, I just have to remember the look on your face right now and it'll give me a reason to laugh."

England flushed again, from hurt this time, and he took a deep breath, tears spilling down his cheeks. "America, you...you, why would you say such things, I..." He choked on a sob, fists clenching at his sides.

"Just waking you up to the truth, old man." America smiled, leaning down so they were face-to-face. "Time to wake up and smell the coffee, Iggy. Being stuck with you is a fate worse than death, right? I should know. Better trap some poor bastard while you can. You're not getting any younger, you know!" He smiled wider, cocking his head and sending the trembling nation a wink.

A resounding slap echoed off the walls as England's hand met America's face with force. "America, you _IDIOT!_" England yelled, fleeing the room.

The blond nation stood for a moment in silence, eyes closed, head still turned from the force of the blow. Eventually he sighed, lifting a hand to touch the spot where he was struck. That was going to leave a mark.

"That was not well done, _mon chou_." France said softly. America exhaled again, running a hand through his hair.

"I know." He admitted, "And I'm sorry. I'll talk to him later. Apologize. I just," He gestured, frustrated. "couldn't deal with that right now. Not after... Not today, you know? I overreacted." He sighed again, plopping down in his seat and looking at the door the British nation had exited through. "I shouldn't have pushed him. It's just, I'm tired of waiting for him to pull his head out of his ass, and open his eyes." He turned to France, gesturing to the door. "Aren't you?"

"Ahh~." France sighed, resting his chin in his hand. His eyes were understanding and sympathetic. "I've been waiting for so long already, America. When you get to be my age, ten years, fifty, a hundred, makes little difference."

_"_I don't want to wait that long, France. But still," he added, toying with his coffee cup, "I'm sorry I riled him up. I don't mean to make things difficult for you."

"Eh, don't worry about it." France waved dismissively. "It will give me a chance to settle him down later. When he's calmed a little."

America huffed in wry amusement, flipping open his files. "If you say so. Just try to spare me the details. I hear you two far too often as it is."

"Mm~, speaking of which..." France began with a slow grin, leaning forward slightly, waggling his eyebrows.

America glanced up from his paperwork, and rolled his eyes, flipping a page. "Spare me your vivid imagination, France. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar."

"You can have a lot of fun with a good cigar, _mon cheri_. Just ask _Angleterre._"

"Yaaah, I don't want to know, don't want to know!" America yelped, slapping his hands over his ears."I'm working, working, doing my paperwork, I can't heaaarr youuuu~!"

France faked a pout. "Ahh~, you're such a prude. That is definitely England's influence. You should be more like your brother, _he_ knows how to have a good time. _There's_ a boy I can be proud of!"

America shook his head, scribbling furiously at his work. "Can't hear you, can't hear you. And don't talk about Mattie like that." He added.

"It is nothing that you don't already know, America. Do not pretend you're so very innocent."

America frowned. "It's not that, it's just, ew. It's bad enough having to act like I can't hear you guys all the time, or Mattie and his partners. I'd prefer not to have to think or talk about it when I don't absolutely have to. I'd really rather just focus on my work and enjoy my day. _Please_." He shuddered. "Besides, with you guys around I lost most of my innocence a long time ago."

"Hohoho, so true. Very well. My apologies, non?" France smirked, leaning back in his seat, clearly unapologetic. "And last night my dear America lost the last of that precious innocence, did he not?"

"Let it go~." America sang, pretending to be absorbed in his work.

"Almost three centuries and the insistently resistant America _finally_ surrenders to the sweet siren song of desire? I think _not_. _Details_, my dear boy. Whom, when, where, how? Are you in love? Am I going to be meeting your mystery paramour? Should we prepare for England's inevitable meltdown?"

"No, no, no, and no. In that order." The other responded, signing off a report with a flourish.

"You _must _tell." France insisted. "Something, _anything_. I will not rest until I find out."

America huffed in amusement. "Prepare to spend the rest of your life awake, then." He answered, leaning his chin in his hand as he read, and pondered, "I wonder, would a nation go crazy from lack of sleep? I dunno, I hear you start to hallucinate. Might be interesting to find out."

"Ooh, you are _impossible_." France huffed. "You know it's only a matter of time. One way or the other I will ferret out this mystery. If not from you, then from someone else. Your secret lover is sure to talk, if you won't."

America only smiled.

"Surely it would be best to tell me everything now? Before the story becomes too wild, non? France will look after you, my dear. Before things get out of hand, as they surely will. I can make sure the others don't spread too many crazy rumours." France prodded, coaxingly.

America snorted. "By spreading insane rumours of your own, sure."

France frowned, drumming his fingers on the table. "You do me an injustice, America. You are too cruel!"

"I'm _realistic_." America corrected, setting aside one file and starting on another. "I may be young, but I'm not stupid, France."

"Bah." France pouted. "Why are you being so difficult? Love should be shared!"

"A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell." America answered, sipping his coffee.

"Ah, so there _is_ something to tell!" France exclamed, delighted. "And since when were you a gentleman?"

"A hero is _always_ a gentleman." America defended."Look, just let it go, alright? I'm not going to tell. It's nobody's business. And even if I wanted to, he asked me not to."

"So it was a _he!" _France pounced on the information, gleeful. He tapped his chin, thinking. "Now, who has been close to my little America in the last few days? Hmm..."

America sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Look, France, _please._ Let it go, okay? It isn't what you think. It wasn't supposed to happen, and it won't happen again. I don't regret it, but that's all there is to it, okay? Not love, not romance, just...an encounter. That's it."

France pouted a little. "But it was your _virginity_, _mon chouchou_. It should have been special. Romantic! Your first experience, with your first love! Is that not why you waited so long? What you were holding out for? I wish to know which special man swayed my little America's firm resolve."

America gave him an incredulous look. "What? Holding ou- no. I wasn't- no, just no. Why would you think that?"

France blinked at him, and shrugged a shoulder. "You, with your grandiose dreams and ideals and obsession with heroes and happy endings, we just assumed you were waiting for a happy ending of your own."

"'We'? 'We' who?"

"Myself, your brother, England. I believe we're the only ones who know you're untouched. Well, were." he corrected. "Of course, England always hoped he would be the one..."

"Pffft." America shook his head. "Wait, so you guys talked about my sex life? Why?"

"Well," France tilted his head, considering. "It is...unusual, for a nation to remain a virgin for as long as yourself. At the very least their purity would be lost through force, if nothing else. But you, who are so strong, have had little to worry about in that regard. Nevertheless, for so many centuries you have been grown, and not even a glance at those around you. We were...concerned."

"Oh." America blinked. "That makes sense, I guess."

"Indeed." France agreed. After a few moments of watching the younger nation perusing his work, he prompted. "So?"

"So what?" America idly responded, tapping his pen on the tabletop.

France exhaled, exasperated. "_So_ if it was not for true love, why did you refrain from engaging in sexual activity?"

America glanced up at him, and back down at his paperwork. Then his brows furrowed, and he frowned, sitting back in his seat. "You know," He said, stroking his chin. "That's...a good question. I've never really thought about it." He shrugged, unconcerned. "I've always been busy with work and stuff. Haven't really had time for anything else."

France narrowed his eyes. "Surely you jest. That can _not_ be the reason. Almost three centuries and you haven't had time for a little fuck?"

America rolled his eyes. "Jeez, when you put it that way. Seriously, France, I don't know. I really haven't thought about it." He picked up his pen, opening up another file. "I just haven't been interested, I guess."

"And last night, you found an interest?"

"Well, kind of, I guess. I mean, it's not like I planned it out. It just sort of happened. One minute I was standing there and then, bam!" He answered, turning over a page.

"'Bam'?" France frowned. "America. Please tell me it was consensual. You weren't forced into anything, were you?"

America gave him a dry look. "Of course it was consensual. You said it yourself, it's not like I have to worry about that. I can take care of myself."

France shook his head. He knew better than the young nation that there were always ways. Coercion took many forms, of which physical force was only one. "No-one is invincible, America. Not even you."

"Well, it wasn't like that. It was..." He paused, remembering the previous night, and blushed, a slow smile curling the corners of his mouth. "It was...nice_." _His eyes were distant, and he leaned on his elbow, lost in reminiscence. "Very...nice."

France relaxed, observing the other's demeanor. "You're glowing, _mon chou_. Are you sure it isn't love?"

"Pssht, no." America dismissed, coming out of his reverie. He returned to his paperwork. "Just a one-time thing. Nice, but that's all."

"And you will not be seeing him again?"

"Nope." America answered. "He made that pretty clear."

"_He_ did?"

"Yep."

"And you're not bothered by this? He took your virginity and left? That's it?"

"No, why should I be? It's not like I expected anything. And it's not like he just 'took' it, it was consensual, remember? You could say I 'gave' it, if you're going to look at it that way. And it's not like I can blame him."

"What do you mean?"

America sighed, and put down his pen, looking straight at France. "France. _Look_ at me. I'm the _United States of America_. Even _I _don't want to deal with half the shit that comes along with that, especially on an international scale. Anyone I become involved with would be subjected to constant scrutiny and who knows what else, just by being associated with me. Not only that, but can you _imagine_ what England would do if he thought I might be involved with someone else? He's bad enough as it is." He smiled wryly. "I could go on, but do I really need to?"

"No, no." France held up a hand. "You've made your point. Admirably. Very well. If you are satisfied, then I suppose I have no reason to object. I still want details, but I can respect your promise. That doesn't mean I won't try to find out, though."

"Mm, I suppose it'd be impossible to stop you from trying." America shook his head. "Just try to keep it a secret for now, okay? For England's sake, if nothing else."

"Ahhh~, you had to bring him into this, didn't you? That's not fair. Yes, I will keep your secret. For now." France pouted. "Though I may let it slip to your brother." He added, thoughtfully. "He deserves to know."

"If you do, don't tell me. I want to be able to claim plausible deniability." America answered, already absorbed in his work once more. He didn't really mind if Canada knew; his brother, at least, knew how to keep a secret.

"Then I shall be off. I have things to do, people to do, eyebrows to soothe!" France announced, standing and draping his jacket over one arm with a flourish.

"Shouldn't that be 'people to see'?" America inquired, setting aside another file.

"All innocence is not lost, after all~!" France winked, heading for the door. As he opened it, he turned. "Shall I give England your love?"

"Hell no. Don't encourage him, France. He needs to figure things out." America answered, rolling his eyes again. "I'll see you at the meeting."

"Ah, my dear, now who asks for the impossible? The sun rises and sets, the rivers flow to the sea, and England refuses to admit that he is not involved romantically with America, and never will be." France sighed resignedly to himself, closing the door behind him. He slid his jacket on and made his way to the meeting room, never realizing Prussia stood just around the corner behind him, eyes wide, having heard his parting words.

* * *

_AN: Still more to come, believe you me. This section was just getting long, so I split it in half so you guys had something to read while I worked on the next bit. Especially since I'm not sure if I'll have time to write much before the weekend's over. Boo. The next part should clear up some questions you might have about things going on in this chapter. And, you know, possibly earn it's rating. _

_Yes, he **is**__ singing '_America the Beautiful'. _Wouldn't you? _


	4. I Won't Dance

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.**

_I'm starting to feel like I'm in over my head on this fic. Perhaps because it was supposed to be a one-shot, and grew a lot quicker than I expected. Like a first-year violin student trying to play Paganini, I just don't have the skill to make it sing._

_I'll push ahead though, and maybe gain some skill along the way. Nothing wrong with a little challenge now and then, right? __Bear with me guys (even if I screech the strings a little). You wouldn't believe how helpful you've been so far, so my sincerest thanks, truly. _

* * *

"Romano~, over here~!" Feliciano called as soon as his brother entered the conference room, standing in his seat and waving at his brother.

"Oi, get down, idiot! That's dangerous!" Romano yelled back, reaching him just as he jumped to the floor. Grabbing Feliciano's shoulder, he pulled him aside. "Look, bastard, we gotta be be careful, alright? Prussia's having one of his 'episodes'. Make sure you stay away from him and don't draw too much attention, dammit."

"Ve~." His brother frowned worriedly, nodding in understanding. "I'll go tell Germany." He sighed.

Romano blinked. Why hadn't he thought of that, dammit? Germany would be sure to keep his brother in line. It was practically his full-time job. He scowled, but nodded. "Yeah, okay. You do that. Just make sure you don't draw too much attention on the way, idiot."

"Okay~." His brother agreed, and set off through the crowd. Romano slumped into his seat, crossing his arms, tapping his finger impatiently as he waited for his brother's return. After a few minutes, Feliciano came back, dropping into the seat next to him. "Its alright~, I told him. Germany says he'll take care of it, and thanks for letting him know."

"Thanks nothing, dammit." Romano grumbled, relief filling him. "He should keep that animal under better control."

"Did he hurt you? Are you okay?" Feliciano asked worriedly, leaning against his brother's shoulder.

"I'm fine, idiot. We're not the ones he's after this time, anyway."

"Okay~! That's good." His brother answered, relieved, and looked around. "So, have you seen America yet?"

Romano frowned. "_No,_ dammit. And I don't expect to, either, idiot."

His brother looked at him, confused. "But, he's at the meeting, today. He'll be here eventually, ve~."

"I, I know that! I meant, you know, _personally_. We probably won't... talk, or anything." He gestured vaguely. "Have anything to do with each other."

"Maybe." His brother answered dubiously. Then he smiled, catching sight of something on the other side of the room, and sat up straight. "Oh look! There he is, ve~!"

Romano looked over to see the blond nation breeze into the conference room, briefcase slung over his shoulder, humming happily. His eyes narrowed as he noticed a mark on the idiot's cheek- he could just make out the faint red outline of a handprint against America's fair skin. He frowned. How- who- had Prussia? wait, no, it was none of his business, he didn't care, dammit. It was just...who would do that to America? Sure he was an idiot, but he was kind of sweet and harmless, dammit. He didn't deserve that kind of treatment.

Not that he cared, 'cause he didn't, and he wasn't thinking about America's eyes, bright and blue and trusting, looking up at him with that sweet smile, relaxed and a little mischievious, or America, spread out beneath him, warm and flushed and wanting, moving up to meet him, the feel of that smooth skin under his hands, America's head thrown back in ecstasy, the muscles in the smooth column of his ivory throat working as he swallowed, gasped, panted Romano's name, America looking up at him, blue eyes shining, a soft smile curving his lips, mouth opening, slowly, to say-

"Everyone come to order!"

Germany's voice rang out over the chatter as he pounded the table, rudely jerking Romano out of his reverie. The Italian nation dropped his face in his hand, sinking down in his seat with a groan as Germany continued, "Pay attention! Our host, England, has been held up with urgent business, so he's requested that I lead today's meeting until he gets here. We'll start in 15 minutes, so everyone get prepared! You all know the drill! Have your data ready, keep it short and to the point. Don't digress!"

"Brother, brother, are you okay?" Feliciano leaned over to ask, as Germany lectured on in the background. "You look a little flushed, ve~." He pressed a hand to Romano's forehead.

"I'm fine, dammit. It's just really hot in here." Romano answered curtly, batting his brother's hand away. He shifted in his seat, uncomfortably, and tried to focus on the upcoming meeting. Feliciano leaned against Romano's arm, head on his shoulder.

"Well, America seems to be in a good mood." He commented idly, looking to where the blond nation was frolicking on the other side of the room. Romano looked, and sure enough, America was bouncing around with that silly grin, laughing and generally making a noisy nuisance of himself. He huffed, exasperated and amused (and irritated with himself for the warm feeling fluttering around in his stomach) and looked away.

"I don't care, idiot. It has nothing to do with me." He muttered.

"Hmm, if you say so~." His brother answered. "You might be right about him not caring, though. He hasn't looked at you at all since he got here, ve~."

Romano frowned. He hadn't? Not that it mattered, 'cause he didn't care. It was just sex, dammit, it didn't mean anything. "I don't care." He reiterated, irritated. "Whatever that idiot does has nothing to do with me, dammit."

He didn't care _at all_, dammit.

* * *

"I'm walkin' on sunshine~!" America sang as he strode into the conference room. He couldn't help but grin. He felt fantastic- outside of the little incident with England, his day was going great. He'd managed to finish all of his paperwork for the next few days already, the sun was shining, France had kept his secret so far (he could tell 'cause England hadn't assaulted him and no-one had come up to drill him about it), and really, he just felt... _great_.

Noticing England's seat was empty brought a mix of relief and trepidation- he wouldn't have to confront the volatile nation right away, but on the other hand, his not being here could mean that he was off somewhere planning some sort of unholy retaliation or getting drunk, and that could be trouble. He shrugged. He was feeling way too good to let that worry him now. He'd deal with it if it came up. Still, he thought, dropping his briefcase in his seat, it wouldn't hurt to do a little recon. He hadn't gotten this far by always just going with the flow.

"Mattie!" He exclaimed, flinging his arms around his brother's neck from behind. "Guess who!"

Canada sighed. "It's _Canada,_ America."

"Beep! Wrong~!" America announced, spinning his brother around and dipping him low. "It's the hero, silly! A-mer-i-ca!"

"Waa~ what, what are you _doing_, America?" Canada flailed briefly, and clung to his brother's arms for support. "D-don't drop me! And I'm _Canada!_"

"Oh~ Canadaaa~" America sang, setting his brother back on his feet. "I don't know the words to the next line~."

"Nobody does." Canada sighed resignedly. He straightened his clothes with an odd look at his brother, wondering, "And what has gotten _into_ you?" Then he blinked, mouth dropping open. "Oh. _Oh!_" He gasped, covering his mouth in surprise.

America laughed. "You really _do_ take after France! But," he cleared his throat and lifted a finger to his lips, smiling secretively. "I have _no idea_ what you're talking about."

He brother's eyes widened, and he smiled, nodding to show he understood. "Alright. But maybe I have something to talk about with you later? After the meeting?"

"Mmm, France will catch up with you before I do." He hummed noncommittally. "Speaking of France, have you seen him? I need to ask him something."

"Yeah, he's- wait, what happened to your face?" His brother asked, frowning, and reached up to touch the faint mark on his brother's cheek. "America, are you okay? That looks like it hurts."

"You shoulda seen the other guy." America answered wryly. His brother gave him a reproachful smile, torn between amusement and disapproval. America smiled. "Seriously though, I kind of deserved it, this time. I said some things to England that I maybe shouldn't have."

"Ahh." Canada nodded in understanding, and leaned over to pluck Kumajirou from his seat, squeezing the bear tightly in his arms. "Is that why he's not here now?"

"I'm not sure." America admitted, running a hand through his hair. "That's why I'm looking for France."

"He would know, yeah." Canada nodded, and looked around. "Well, I saw him over there with Spain earlier. You should be able to find him fairly easily, I think. Are you okay, though? I mean, a fight with England..."

"Nah, I'm cool." America smiled sunnily, bouncing on his toes. "For some reason I just feel really great today. Like no matter what happens it's all good."

Canada couldn't help but smile back. His brother's good mood was infectious. "That's good, eh. I'm sure it'll work out, then."

"Of course it will, I'm the hero!" America laughed, ruffling his brother's hair and spinning on his heel to go look for France. "Thanks Mattie, you're the best!" He called back over his shoulder as he left.

"It's _Canada!"_

"Who?" America heard Kumajirou ask just before he was out of earshot.

He barely noticed when Germany began his announcement, focused as he was on his mission. Aha, there was France, setting up his things for the upcoming meeting. Alone, though, which was convenient. America's smile ramped up a watt. Everything was just totally going his way today, yes indeedy.

"Hey, France." He tapped the other on the shoulder, leaning down when France looked up, so they could speak semi-privately. "Everything all right with England? He's not too upset, is he?" He tilted his head, and his smile turned tentative. "Should I be on my guard?" He asked, half-jokingly.

France smirked at him, and waved dismissively. "Non, non. You are safe for the time being. Rest easy. Of course," he amended, "he is none too happy with you right now. However, through great personal effort, I was able to provide him with a distraction from his displeasure." He winked, tossing his hair over his shoulder with a lascivious grin. "You should be most grateful, _Amérique_. Once again, I have come to your rescue."

America rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I'm sure it was terrible for you. So you tired him out so much that he's missing the meeting? The one he's supposed to be hosting? I'm...kind of impressed. Mostly grossed out," He added, grinning and wrinkling his nose, "but impressed, too."

France sighed in false regret, leaning his head in his hand. "Alas, England is as energetic as ever. He simply had to step out for a while. You see, unfortunately his wardrobe was a casualty of our...distraction efforts, and he had to return home to, ah...clean up, as it were."

America blinked, and his smile turned genuine. "You know, it's kind of sweet the way you're all discreet when you talk about you two. Well," He amended, "discreet for you, anyway."

France stuck his nose in the air, sniffing haughtily. "I do no such thing, you little ingrate. Cease these slanderous accusations at once! This is the thanks I get for being so considerate on your behalf? And after I kept your secret for so long, too."

"Four and a half hours is 'so long'?" America asked, eyebrows climbing. He raised his hands in surrender at France's warning stare. "Okay, okay. You're as perverted and depraved as ever, I got it. Okay? An indiscreet sex-maniac."

France blinked at him. "It disturbs me that I can't tell if you're being serious or trying to insult me."

America laughed. "So England's not showing up at all, then?"

"I believe he intends to arrive after the break."

"Alright." America nodded. "I guess I'll play it by ear, then. Thanks France. For everything." He smiled, squeezing the other's shoulder affectionately.

"Mm, think nothing of it. Though I have yet to give up on getting the details of your little 'experience'."

"No way! Loose lips sink ships, France." America laughed, and waved as he made his escape, but not before France called back,

"I thought there was no ship to sink, _mon petit?_" Causing him to turn around and stick out his tongue.

He bounced through the crowd, greeting and chatting with a few other nations before heading to his place at the table. Just before he reached his seat, however, a loud voice called out, "Hey, America!" He turned to see Prussia sauntering up with an easy grin, sucking lazily on a lollipop.

"Heya, Prussia. You wanted me?" He greeted, smiling amiably. He was a little surprised to see the East German here, he usually didn't bother with the meetings since Germany took care of all their business for him. Must have tagged along with France or Spain.

"Oh yeah. Abso_lutely_." Prussia smirked, slinging an arm around his shoulders and leaning close. "Got it in one, my fine friend. I want you like you wouldn't _believe_."

"Okay. What's up?"

"My awesome self has got a little proposition for ya." The other nation pulled another sucker out of his pocket, holding it out temptingly. "Want some candy?"

"Yay, thank you!" America beamed excitedly as he took it and popped it in his mouth. "Mm, cherry! That's really nice of you, Prussia! Man, this day just keeps getting better."

"I got a secret for ya, America." Prussia winked, leaning in to whisper into America's ear, "It's about to get _awesome_."

"Yeah?" America asked curiously, turning his head to see Prussia better.

"Oh _yeah_." Confirmed Prussia, licking his lips and moving in so they were practically nose-to-nose, his hand sliding down America's back. "In fa- ack!" He was cut off as a gloved hand grasped his collar, jerking him bodily away from the blond.

America blinked in surprise as Germany hauled his brother off of him. Prussia squirmed in his brother's grip, trying to break free. "Fuck, West, what the hell? I was bus-" Yet again he was cut off, his time by Germany's fist to his stomach, knocking him out. Germany slung his brother over his shoulder with a sigh, and turned to the startled nation watching them, eyebrows raised in question.

"I apologize for anything my brother may have said or done." Germany stated. "I'm afraid he's not in his right mind at the moment."

America blinked again, and shook his head, pulling the sucker from his mouth. "No worries, he didn't do anything. He was really nice, actually. He gave me candy!" Germany looked a little nonplussed.

"I'm...glad to hear that, then. If you'll excuse me, I'd better get him out of here before the meeting starts." He nodded shortly, shifting his brother's dead weight on his shoulder as he left.

"Okay. Hope he gets better soon!" America called after the retreating nation, and turned get ready for the meeting.

* * *

The muscles in Romano's jaw clenched, and he frowned deeply, arms crossed, fingers drumming on his sleeves. He'd watched the whole thing from where he sat, trying to ignore the rising trepidation, the guilt and worry and anger coiling in his stomach as Prussia moved in on the dangerously oblivious idiot. It was like watching a junkyard mongrel stalking a kitten. A tiny, fluffy kitten with big blue eyes, innocently chasing butterflies; unaware of the slavering, vicious dog coming to- he mentally slapped himself, and slipped a hand into his pocket to grip the bag of glass dust tightly. A kitten who could rip cars in half with its claws, dammit- America could handle himself.

Still, all the strength in the world didn't mean much if you were swallowed whole...

And speaking of swallowing, he couldn't _believe_ that moron took _candy_ from _Prussia_. Hadn't anyone ever taught the idiot not to take food from suspicious people? What the fuck had the brow-bastard been doing all those years he'd had America under his control? Well, okay, to be fair, if America had been eating England's food he'd be desperate enough to risk it. But still, hadn't _France_ taught him anything? Of all people, France should know how dangerous that could be. Hadn't _anybody_ looked after the idiot? From the looks of things they'd just let America wander around on his own, figuring things out through trial and error. It was a miracle the nation had survived 'til now.

Not that he cared, because he didn't, he assured himself, recrossing his arms and shifting in his seat. And even if he _did _(which he didn't, dammit), the idiot _had_ survived, through several wars and everything (even England's food, miracle of miracles) so obviously he was doing just fine with or without anyone's help.

It was none of his business, dammit.

"Romano? Romano~. _Romannnoooo~."_ A hand waved in front of his face, and he blinked. His brother was looking at him, brows furrowed in concern. "Romano, are you sure you're okay?" He asked, leaning his head against Romano's shoulder and looking up at him worriedly. "Maybe you caught something, ve~. England's a lot colder than what you're used to."

"I'm fine, bastard. It's nothing." Romano muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose, frustrated. "It's just..." He exhaled, rotating his shoulders, trying to work out the tension. "long night, dammit."

"I'll bet." His brother nodded sympathetically. "The meeting's about to start. Are you going to be able to make it through?"

"I said I'm fine, didn't I, bastard?"

"Alright, ve~." Feliciano smiled, and settled back down, returning his attention to the upcoming meeting.

As the room settled down and business finally went underway, Romano's attention drifted back to the blond superpower across the room. Feliciano had been right- America _hadn't_ looked at him. Hadn't even glanced in his general direction, as far as he could tell. Which was fine, dammit. _Great_. The last thing he needed was some misguided idiot following him around. It was good that America understood where things stood (really though, not _once_? He'd just given the idiot what had to be the best night of his _life_. Not only was it his first time, but the sex had been _great. _And if he, Romano, thought it had been great, then it was fucking _amazing, _dammit. Yet there the bastard was, sitting there, _completely_ unaffected, focusing on his work and _not thinking about Romano at all. _What the _hell)_.

Across the table, the American idly played with the stick of candy in his mouth, and Romano's hands gripped his sleeves so tightly his knuckles went white against his skin. Just the thought of _Prussia_ getting his filthy mitts on America made his stomach lurch. The nation was _way_ too innocent for the things that Prussia would want. America wasn't ready for that. He didn't _deserve_ that. And that asshole Prussia sure as hell didn't deserve America's innocence, his trust, or America yielding to him, letting him...

His leg bounced agitatedly. Couldn't America see what Prussia was after? That he wasn't _safe_? Apparently not- the idiot was obviously too naive to realize that Prussia was Bad News.

(And where did that asshole Prussia get off? Just because America wasn't in a relationship with _England_, America was free for the taking? Maybe America had better things to do than a washed out old ex-nation with delusions of awesomehood.)

And dammit- Romano shoulders hunched as it dawned on him- now that Prussia knew, it was only a matter of time before the news got around...and then America would be _swarmed_ by opportunistic bastards. Dammit, if only he'd marked the bastard the night before (just about the only rule he _hadn't_ broken last night). Maybe then Prussia (and everyone else) would realize America was...well, not _taken_, but...

Not that he cared, dammit, _because he didn't_. It didn't matter to _him_ how sweet and innocent and...that he'd let _Romano_ take his innocence, that he'd ..._trusted_ him to take care of him, to lead him through his first...that he'd given _Romano _his virginity. His _virginity_! Sure, _he_ hadn't known at the time, but America had; and even though he'd been scared and nervous at first, he'd trusted him! Really trusted him. _Him, _Romano! Had urged him to _continue_, even!

The Italian's heart pounded in his ears, his breath quickening as he remembered the way America had placed himself in his hands, yielding to _him_. How America responded to his words and actions without any real hesitation or question, calming at his touch, _trusting _Romano to take care of him, to keep him safe...

_To_ _be his __first__. _

Not that any of it _meant_ anything, dammit. Neither did the way he'd felt strangely relaxed and safe in America's arms, had slept more soundly than he had in he didn't know _how _long...he'd probably just been...exhausted, right? Who wouldn't be, after a night like that? He certainly didn't kind of...miss it. It had only been one night, dammit. Not even a full night, even. Hours, at most.

And yet America hadn't looked at him _once_.

Not that it mattered, dammit.

Time wore on, and Romano found himself in an endless cycle, going from disgruntled irritation (and denial) at America's nonchalance, to worry, anger and frustration (and denial) at the danger America was in from Prussia, to getting lost in thoughts of America, America, America...(and more denial, just to mix things up a little).

Less than an hour into the meeting and he couldn't take it anymore. He was getting a _headache_, dammit.

"I'm leaving, dammit." He told Feliciano, and stood, straightening his clothes in irritation. He had to get the hell out of here, away from anything that reminded him of that idiot across the room and anything to do with him. Or Prussia. Or _kittens_, dammit.

Feliciano nodded. "Okay~." he whispered back."Get some rest, Romano. I'll bring by the notes later, okay?"

"Whatever." Romano grunted in response, and left.

* * *

America shifted anxiously in his seat. He really, really had to go. Like nobody's business. Between the pot of coffee Romano Italy had left him this morning (which was awfully nice of him) and the two pots he'd consumed in the break room while he was doing his paperwork, his bladder was threatening to make it's own arrangements if he didn't take care of business _soon_. He really should have gone before the meeting, but it'd been a busy day, and he'd been distracted by candy. He'd totally forgotten.

Damn. He leaned over to nudge Canada's shoulder. "Mattie. _Mattie."_

"Ca-na-da."

"Whatever, look- I have to go to the bathroom. Take notes for me?"

"You should have taken care of that before the meeting." His brother scolded gently.

"I know, but I didn't, and if I don't go now I will _explode_, Mattie. Do you want me to explode?"

Canada's lips quirked. "You mean like you used to when we were kids?"

America scowled. "That wasn't my fault!" He hissed. "If England hadn't told me about the monsters under the bed I wouldn't have been too scared to get out of it to go to the bathroom!"

Canada frowned at the mention of England. "You're not just using this as an excuse to avoid England, are you?" He asked suspiciously, eyes narrowing. "You aren't going to skip out on the meeting like the time-"

"Mattiiieee, I have to peeeeee!" America whined, practically dancing in his seat, causing several neighboring nations to shoot them disapproving looks. Embarrassed at the attention, Canada sank into his seat, squeezing Kumajirou for support. His brother looked around, frantically whispering, "Matt- Canada! Canada, where'd you go?"

Canada sighed, forgetting his embarrassment in exasperation at his brother's inability to see him yet _again_. "I'm right here, Al." He said, placing a hand on his brother's arm. Startled, America turned to him, expression quickly morphing from surprise to pleading. Canada, as always, gave in. "Okay, I'll do it. Go on." He said, sighing inwardly. Why couldn't he ever say no to America?

"ThanksMattieyou'rethebest!" America breathed, flashing him a beaming, grateful smile, darting from his seat and out of the room. Canada shook his head.

"He's not coming back, is he?" He sighed, picking up his pen to resume his note-taking.

"Who?" asked Kumajirou.

Romano growled in frustration as he pushed himself off the floor of the closet. The same utility closet that he and Feliciano had been in earlier, as a matter of fact. He'd managed to get halfway out of the building before he'd realized that the key card to his hotel room was missing from his pocket. Since he'd had it this morning when he'd gone back to the hotel to shower and change, and he knew for sure he'd put it in his back pocket when he'd left, that meant there were two places it was most likely to have fallen out- in the closet where he'd sat while he talked to Feliciano, or back at his seat in the meeting room. He really, really hoped it was here in the closet so he didn't have to go back into the conference room and see that idiot America again, but he'd looked all over the floor and no luck, damn it all to hell. Well, he told himself as he opened the door and stepped out, if he kept his eyes on the floor he wouldn't have to see Amer-

That thought was cut off as his eyes met with a suddenly all-too-familiar set of blue ones across the hallway.

Someone up there hated him, he knew it.

* * *

_AN: It must suck trying to be indifferent, uncaring and unsentimental when you're a hopeless romantic. He's like a gummy bear trying to deny he's made of delicious sugary goodness. Or maybe that's the fever talking again XD_


	5. Not a Metaphor

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.**

_This is short, but I realized things flowed better if this was separated from the following parts. Consider it a bridge of sorts. _

* * *

The two nations stared at each other for a long moment. Then America smiled, lifting a hand in greeting. "Hi Romano! I didn't expect to see you here! What were you doin' in the closet?" He asked, tilting his head curiously.

Romano recovered from his shock, all his previous frustration and irritation returning in full force. "This is all your fault, bastard!" he accused, pointing at the blond.

America blinked, nonplussed. "It's my fault you're in the closet?" He asked, brows raised in confusion.

"Yes!" Romano fumed, flailing his arms, then paused. "No, idiot! Dammit, it's your fault that- uh- dammit, just get in here and help me find my key, bastard!" he snarled, the fact that he'd already _searched_ the closet forgotten in the turmoil of emotions the idiot's appearance brought forth.

"Sure, I can do that." America agreed, and followed Romano inside. "Where'd you lose it?" he asked, glancing around.

"If I knew that, bastard, it wouldn't be lost."

"Oh, right." America laughed, and started looking around the floor. "How did you lose it in here, anyway? Seems like an odd place to lose a key."

"I told you bastard, it's all your fault." Romano grumbled, crossing his arms petulantly.

"How could it possibly be my fault?" America contradicted from where he crouched on the floor, tilting his head to try and see under a shelf. "I haven't even had anything to do with you at _all_ today."

Frustration peaking, Romano kicked the door, and it slammed shut with a resounding 'bang!'. He stomped over to the blond nation, yanking him up to his knees by his tie. "_This,_" he growled, as America looked up at him with startled blue eyes, "is all your fault, bastard, because I wouldn't have even been _in_ this closet if it wasn't for you and your stupid virginity and your stupid..._stupidness_ and _dammit_, making me _think_ about you and, and," he gesticulated wildly with his free hand, unable to articulate the sheer _havoc_ the idiot had put his mind and emotions through in the past few hours.

The corner of America's mouth quirked up. "You've been thinking about me?"

"Uh." Romano froze, rapidly flushing, realizing what he'd let slip. "Um." He blinked, and looked down to where he held the other nation fast by his tie, and up again to America, who was smiling slowly, "Um." His mind was blank, he wasn't sure how to proceed- and then his gaze fell on the red mark on America's face; almost faded now, but still clearly a handprint, and without conscious thought, he released America's tie, and his hand lifted to touch the mark. His brows furrowed, and he stroked it with his thumb, frowning, not fully noticing when America's breath caught in surprise. "Who-, what happened, bastard?" He asked, gaze fixed on the reddened skin underneath his fingertips.

"I, uh, got into a little argument with England." America confessed softly.

"D-does it hurt?"

America shook his head incrementally. "No." He whispered.

Romano nodded, once, slowly. "Okay." He moved his hand over the mark, spreading his fingers to fit the red ones marring America's fair skin, as if covering the imprint would erase its existence. His eyes flickered, and he looked at the nation watching him. He licked his lips, uncertainly. "I-is, was it...because of me?"

A strange expression passed over America's face, and his smile returned. "No." Not the way the Italian meant, anyway. "He doesn't know."

Romano exhaled. "Good. That's...good." His mouth relaxed into an almost-smile, and his thumb caressed America's cheekbone. America leaned ever-so-slightly into his touch, and his own hand came up to cover the one on his face.

"It's sweet of you to be concerned, though." He added quietly.

"I'm not sweet." Romano corrected, drawing closer. "And I wasn't worried, dammit."

"No?" America's eyes shone with amusement, and his chin lifted slightly.

"Never." Romano affirmed, his other hand coming to rest against the other's chest.

"Alright." America murmured, his breath warm and sweet against Romano's mouth. "If you say so."

"Damn right." Romano murmured back, as their lips met.

America smiled.

* * *

The kiss is slow, unhurried; not a battle or struggle for dominance, no surrender; simply a sustained, sensuous moment of 'this is me, learning you'. Lips, tongues, fingers, bodies entwine, and they lean into each other, each feeling and allowing himself to be felt, a mutual sensation of _you, me, here, now._

Eventually, they part; and lean into each other, foreheads pressed together, breath mingling. Romano's eyes are closed, America's, half-open. Romano exhales, a long, deep breath, and he nuzzles America's nose. Slowly, his own eyes open, and their eyes lock.

They have no words for what passed between them.

Again they kiss- a feather-light brush of lips.

Lowering his head, Romano presses a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the hollow at the base of America's throat, and America closes his eyes, tilting his head back in wordless invitation_._

They miss the rest of the meeting.

* * *

_("This doesn't mean anything, bastard." Romano pants between wet kisses, as they they twine, slick and writhing, on the floor of the utility closet._

_"I know." America gasps, eyes closing as he arches into skilled fingers, moving his hips in a way that steals Romano's breath._)

* * *

_AN: Gahhhh this story is kicking my ass...*bangs head on desk* *deep breath* Okay. Okay! It'll get better, I promise. _


	6. He Knows

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.**

_Not perfect. I had to face up to the fact that this story is never going to be what I'd envisioned, and let it be what it is; so I decided to try and post something, because the longer I put this off and rewrite and rewrite and rewrite (I have no less than 60 different versions of this chapter, no kidding). I'm hoping it'll prime the pump, so to speak, and I'll stop being OCD about it and let the damn thing flow. It needs to be written._

_The tense may be wonky, sorry about that. _

* * *

"France knows."

It's early evening, and they're laying tangled on the floor of the closet still. America's head is pillowed both on an arm folded behind his head and a pile of their discarded clothes, and Romano's sprawled across his chest, lying half on the taller nation and half on the floor, curled against his side. America's free hand is drawing slow circles on the back of Romano's neck, and Romano, who was lazily tracing the outline of America's hipbone over and over with the hand not sandwiched between them, tenses at America's words.

"What?" He asked, hoping he'd heard wrong.

"Not about you, or anything like that." America clarified quickly, his hand a reassuring weight against the base of Romano's neck. "I didn't say anything to him. He just...knows I've had sex. He took one look at me and knew."

"Cheh, figures." Romano snorted, but relaxed, resuming his actions. "You didn't tell anyone, though?"

"Nope. It's nobody's business." America answered readily, stroking Romano's neck with the back of his fingers. "Why, did you?" He glanced down curiously.

Romano was unable to see him from where his head lay pressed against America's chest, but sensed the movement and lowered his head a little, focusing on his fingers moving against the other's skin. "I told Feliciano." He admitted.

"Oh, okay." America nodded, then asked, "Mind if I tell my brother, then? He deserves to know."

"Your brother? Will he tell anyone else, bastard?"

"Of course not. Mattie knows how to keep a secret." America stated definitely.

"Alright then. Sure. Knock yourself out."

"Great." Smiling, he squeezed the back of Romano's neck lightly in thanks.

Romano bit his lip for a moment, debating. "What are you going to tell him?" He winced as it slipped out, hating himself for asking. It wasn't like he _cared_ what the idiot thought, dammit.

"Um," America considered. "I don't know. I haven't thought about it."

Romano frowned. He hadn't thought about it? At _all_? "What do you _mean_ you haven't thought about it, bastard?"

"What?"

Pushing himself up on his hands to look America in the face, he demanded, "What do you mean you haven't thought about it, bastard? It was your _first time_, dammit. Isn't that important to you at _all?_"

"Uh." America blinked at him, taken aback, and slowly withdrew his hand. "...Yes?" He responded cautiously, unsure if that was the right answer.

"Don't- don't lie, jerk." Romano muttered, hunching slightly, looking anywhere but at the blond. "Y-you obviously haven't thought about it at all. Even...even in the meeting, dammit. You didn't- you didn't even look at me _once_, the whole time you were there."

America pursed his lips, giving him a dry look as he settled his hands on the Italian's hips. "Romano. _France_ knows I've had sex. He's dying to know who I had sex _with_, and since I won't tell him, you can be sure he was watching me very closely. So I was very carefully _not_ looking at you, because if I had I wouldn't have been able _not_ to think about it, and he would have figured it out somehow, 'cause he's got some kind of crazy sex-radar. And if France knew I'd lost my virginity to an _Italy_, he'd be so thrilled he wouldn't be able to resist telling _everyone_. Probably right then and there."

He rolled his eyes. "I can see it now— he'd jump on the table, and go: 'Nations! Nations, your attention please, _merci beaucoup_!'" Raising his voice in a surprisingly accurate imitation of France, he spread his hands in the air as if addressing a room full of nations. "'I have a most important announcement~, _s'il vous plaît_! It has come to my attention that America, after over _three centuries _of celibacy, has _finally_ lost his virginity to one of the three _finest_ lovers in the world (myself included in that number, _naturellement_). And whom, may you ask, has deflowered my dear, innocent _Amérique_? Ohohon~! None other than South Italy, otherwise known as Romano! I am _so_ proud! Take a bow, Romano Italy!' And then, of course, I'd have to kill him." He added conversationally in his normal voice, lowering his hands.

Romano, whose mouth had dropped open at the start of his mimicry, gaped at him, eyes wide. "That..." He shivered, and shook himself. "That was _creepy _as_ fuck_, bastard. _Never_ do that again."

America laughed. "Alright, I'll try not to."

Romano grunted, settling back down on the other's chest. As soon as he was comfortably curled up America began to pet him, running his fingers through the Italian's hair, down his neck and upper spine. Romano relaxed under the touch, closing his eyes. That felt...really nice, actually. It helped that, intentionally or not, America was avoiding his curl. He hated the loss of control, the way his body would _react _and _feel_ things when it was stimulated, regardless of who was doing it, and whether he wanted to or not. Like his body wasn't his own. So it was...nice, that he didn't feel like he had to worry about it being taken advantage of, for once.

He actually felt...kind of...safe. Between that and the steady beat of America's heart, he was slowly being lulled into a state of liquid relaxation on top of the other nation.

"Hey." America started. Too comfortable to respond verbally, Romano only grunted. "So... was that considered sex?"

Romano's eyes opened, and he blinked. What? "What?"

"All that stuff we just did. Is that sex, too? I mean, would you say we just had sex?"

Again, Romano pushed himself up to look at the other nation."What do _you_ think, bastard?" He asked incredulously.

America's brows furrowed in thought. "Er, maybe? I don't know. I mean, we didn't...you didn't...do that thing. I mean, what we _did_ was awesome. That stuff you did with your fingers was pretty amazing, but, you know, we didn't...go all the way, and stuff. So was it sex?"

"Unless you're trying to wriggle out of something, then yes, idiot- that was sex." He shifted so he was sitting across America's hips, and frowned. "Didn't France teach you _anything_?"

"I don't listen to France talk about sex." America snorted, dropping his hands to Romano's hips once more. "I might learn something I don't want to know. And I don't need the mental images, thanks." He chewed his lip for a moment, idly stroking Romano's hipbone with his thumb as he debated something, then asked, somewhat hesitantly, "So...why didn't we...you know, go all the way? Like last time. You didn't..."

"Fuck you, you mean?" Romano asked drily. America smiled, relieved.

"Yeah."

"You can say the word, asshole. It's not like I'm going to wash your mouth out, or something."

"It's not that, it's just...I don't know if what we did is considered fucking, too."

"You're thinking too hard about it, bastard."

"Yeah, probably." America conceded.

"Try 'definitely'. When it comes to sex, it's best to just feel and go with it." Romano settled down again, propping his elbow on America's chest, chin in hand.

America considered this for a moment. "So...you didn't 'feel' like fucking me?"

The Italian's eyebrows raised. "Why are you so hung up on whether I fucked you or not?"

"Well," America pouted, eyes averted, "I liked it. It was...nice. I thought we were going to do it again, but, well." He shrugged a shoulder, fiddling with a button on the jacket sleeve that lay next to his head. "I just, you know, kind of wondered. Why we didn't." He finished, embarrassed.

Romano sighed. "America. Last night was your first time."

"Yes, I know." America frowned in exasperation. "We've established that, thanks."

"Don't be a smartass." The other ordered, flicking the blond's forehead. "And let me finish, dammit. Look, it was your first time. You've _got_ to be pretty sore."

"A little." America admitted.

"Right. If I'd fucked you, right now, so soon after your first time, you'd be so sore afterwards that you wouldn't be able to walk. And I'm sure as hell not carrying you out of this closet."

"Oh." America replied, disappointed.

"Yeah." Romano replied drily. "'_Oh'_."

There was silence for a minute, except for the sound of America flicking the button repeatedly. Romano was about to lay his head down again, when America spoke up.

"Y'know, it's not _that_ bad. I bet could probably walk."

"I am _not_ fucking you in this closet, bastard."

"But-"

"No."

"But-!"

"_No."_

America sighed. "_Fine_."

"Damn right." Romano laid back down, closing his eyes. Then they opened again, and he pushed himself up. "Wait a second, France knew you were a virgin?"

"Yeah, of course." America answered, quirking a brow. "Crazy sex-radar, remember?"

Romano opened his mouth, shut it again, his own brows furrowed. If France knew, how was it that no-one else had heard the news? It wasn't like France to keep information like that to himself. Which brought up another question that'd been on his mind for a while. "...Why were you still a virgin?"

"What?"

"You heard me, bastard. You hit puberty centuries ago. Over two centuries without losing your virginity? How does that _happen_, dammit?"

"That's easy." America explained slowly, smirking. "No sex. So, virgin."

Romano pinched America's hip, causing the other to yelp and jerk in surprise. "_You know what I mean_, smartass. You're obviously fully capable. And you've had to have had opportunities. Almost three centuries without losing your virginity? With _France_ in the picture? How does that _happen_, dammit? Hasn't anyone ever tried to... to force you?"

"You'd be surprised what people don't try when you can swing a one-ton bison around before you're out of diapers. News like that gets around."

"_Still_. No-one's ever tried anything?"

America shrugged.

Romano glared at his chest, hunching slightly. "You are one _lucky_ son of a bitch."

"I know." America preened, clasping his hands behind his head with a confident grin.

"Don't get cocky, asshole."

"Haha, I'm not. Not really. I know I've been... lucky, blessed, however you want to say it. Things could have been a lot worse, and weren't." He hesitated. "What about you? Have...has anyone ever-"

"We're not talking about me, bastard." Romano cut him off.

"Ah." America was silent for a moment. "Is that why you were so freaked out when you thought-"

"_Not talking about it._" Romano growled tersely, laying back down, shoulders tense.

"Alright." America said neutrally. He shifted and resumed petting the nation on his chest, again running his fingers soothingly through soft dark hair, down neck and shoulders, and the tension slowly left the nation curled up on his chest as he realized America wasn't going to press the issue.

After a few minutes, he spoke up again. "...You never answered the question, bastard."

"Mm." America agreed. "I dunno, actually." He traced the curve of Romano's ear, thinking. "When France asked me earlier, I told him I've been too busy with work and stuff to think of anything else, and that's part of it." He thought a moment, and shrugged a shoulder disinterestedly. "A lot of reasons, I guess."

"Yeah? Name one, bastard."

"Eh." America dropped his head back against the pile of clothes he's been using as a pillow, and pondered the ceiling as his fingers trailed Romano's skin. "Well, for one thing, no-one's ever really showed an interest."

Romano pulled back to stare at him incredulously. America can't honestly believe that. Is he blind or just fucking around? "You can_not_ be serious, bastard."

"No, really. Seriously, no-one's been that interested in me."

"Bull. _Shit_. England. He's been chasing your ass for centuries. You're not telling me you didn't notice."

America rolled his eyes. "England doesn't want me. He's just got a stick up his ass."

"Yeah, and he wishes it were yours. The brow-bastard's panting for it, bastard. Everyone knows that. Hell, the way he acts like he owns your ass, everyone thought you were sticking it to the bastard already."

"Oh, _ew_. That's disgusting." America slapped a hand over his eyes, grimacing, and complained, "Did you have to put it that way? Eugh." He shuddered. "Ewew_ew_. And you're wrong." He added, pulling his hand away and frowning. "England doesn't want me. Not like that."

Romano scoffed.

"No, he doesn't." America insisted. "_Really_. He _thinks_ he does, sure, but he doesn't really." He gestured vaguely, frustrated. "England...well, it's complicated." He rubbed the bridge of his nose, eyes screwed up tight, and sighed. "It's like this, okay? What England has always wanted, _really_ wanted, is...a family. One that isn't as fucked up as his relationship with his brothers, right? Something, you know, _good_. 'Normal'."

"And then centuries ago he finds me, and hey- I'm his dream baby brother. Little and innocent, and completely dependant on him, right? Well, sort of." He amended, grinning. "I never really needed him to take care of me, but, we had the illusion. And, of course, I looked up to him. And most importantly, I _chose_ him. Over France, and everybody. That, well, that meant a lot to him." He glanced at Romano. "Following so far?"

Romano maked a sound in his throat. He wasn't sure whether he believed all this or not, but he's listening.

America nodded. "Alright. So he's got me, this 'perfect little brother' to take care of and to depend on him, and then, one day, I grow up. Just, bam. Of course," he added, "it wasn't actually one day so much as a few years, but he tended to be gone for long periods of time, and I guess that's still pretty fast for a nation."

"No shit." Romano agreed. It'd taken _him_ millennia, but that was a bit slow for a nation, too.

"And...well, that's where everything went wrong. England comes back to what _should_ be his adorable baby brother, and here is this... _adult male_ running around, happy to see him, wanting to sleep in the same bed and hug him and bathe together and listen to his stories and all the stuff we did when I was little, really; except now he can't justify it in his mind 'cause as far as he's concerned grown men _don't do_ that sort of thing together unless...well, _you _know. But he doesn't want to hurt me either, 'cause he knows _I_ don't know or understand that, so he goes along with it, but I'm _not_ a kid anymore and he can't pretend that I am, so he gets...confused. It doesn't help that he can't lie to himself anymore that I need him, 'cause although I've always been stronger than him, at least before I _looked_ little and vulnerable and cute, but now I'm taller and broader and it's harder for him to tell himself I can't get along without him, and, well...he wasn't ready not to be needed yet. He wasn't ready for me to grow up, which...I understand. Not that there's anything I could do about it, but still, it had to be hard for him, and I feel bad about that." He sighed again, deeply, staring at the ceiling with a tired expression.

"...And then...well. We had some problems. He couldn't really resolve the whole thing in his head, and tried to keep me from growing up, growing more independant...wanted me to talk only to him, to trade only with him, to stay away from any and everyone else, and...well..." He trailed off, draping an arm over his eyes. After a few moments, he swallowed hard, and said, quietly, "After a while I couldn't... it was too much. I, I loved him and...I'd always looked up to him, but..." he swallowed again. "Well, everyone knows what happened after that." He lifted a shoulder in another shrug, feining indifference. Lowering the arm from his face to stroke Romano's upper arm with the backs of his fingers, his eyes lowered to watch the movement, and he continued, "After I won my independence, well...it's... it became... he... believes that the only way he can have any influence or control over me now is if we're in a relationship, and the only way we can be close, be _family_, is if he has control, so...he lies to himself that that's what he wants from me."

"He still wants you to fuck him, though." Romano pointed out after a moment. America wrinkled his nose.

"No he doesn't. Look, if England wanted me, he's had _tons _of opportunities to make a move. We've been alone together, alone in bed together, and alone and _naked_ together; he's been drunk around me a million times, he's been drunk in bed together with me, alone and drunk and _naked_ around me and the closest thing I've gotten to a show of interest is some lame, half-hearted hints."

"He's probably waiting for you to make a move, idiot. The bastard's pretty repressed."

"_Please_. England, holding back when he wants something? He wasn't a pirate for nothing, you know. Hello, _British Fucking Empire_."

Frowning, Romano shifted to rest his chin in his hand, reaching up with the other to idly finger America's collarbone, dipping his fingertips into the hollow.

"Besides," America continued offhandedly, lifting his chin a little to give him better access, "even if I was in _any_ way interested —which I'm not— I wouldn't do that to France."

Frown deepening, Romano slowly ran his thumb up the crest of that throat, staring at his fingers moving on fine, smooth skin. "What does France have to do with anything?"

America's breath caught as the Italian's fingers splayed across the soft underside of his jaw, and his pulse quickened under questing fingertips. He swallowed, feeling the warm weight of Romano's palm cover his throat. "Not my story." He answered, feeling his eyelids lower when those fingers move to trace his jawline, lips parting when Romano's thumb brushed his lower lip, electrifying it. He took the digit between his teeth, nipping the soft pad gently, gazing at Romano, his eyes slits of vivid blue eyes under golden lashes, and Romano slid his hand up to curl in golden hair, shifting his body forward to take America's lips with his own.

For several long moments they kissed, lazily, a slow, chaste movement of lips and occasional brush of tongues; America's fingers slowly trailing Romano's spine, their lips sore, tender from earlier kisses, earlier activities, but neither cared, wrapped up in each other and the moment.

Eventually Romano drew back, slowly, brushing feather-light kisses against America's lips, the corner of his mouth, nuzzling his nose, and briefly pressed his forehead to America's before pulling away to gaze intently at him, hazel eyes hooded, thoughtful. His gaze dropped to America's mouth, and he drew his fingertips across the lower lip, brows furrowing.

"...Why me?" He murmured, eyes flickering briefly up to America's face and back down to the soft, swollen flesh under his fingertips, afraid to see the answer in America's face, afraid to hear it from his lips, but he had to know.

"Hm?" America hummed distractedly in response, not understanding the question.

"W..." Romano licked dry lips, throat working as he tried to get the words out, "w,why me? Why...did you...d-didn't..."_ (Why me? Why was _I_ your first? Why did you let me? Why didn't you _stop_ me, bastard? Why...why was I the one you gave your virginity to? Why?)_

America looked at him for a moment, uncomprehending, then his eyes widened, face clearing in understanding. "Oh. _Oh_. Uh." He blinked rapidly, head clearing from the haze he'd been in, and answered unthinkingly. "When you touched me, it felt safe." (It had taken him by surprise, taken his breath away. How long had it been since he'd been touched by someone who didn't want something from him? To do something _to_ him? Even as a child...)

"What do you mean 'safe'?" Romano asked, brows furrowing.

"I don't know how to explain it." America tilted his head in thought. "It just...felt safe." He covered Romano's hand on his chest with his own. "Your touch feels... clean."

Romano jerked his hand out from under America's, and hid it behind his back, shoulders hunching as he turned away, tasting bitterness. "...I haven't been clean for a long time, bastard."

"I wouldn't know." America said, sitting up and reaching behind him for his shirt, pulling it on. "I just know how it feels to me."

"Yeah, well, you're an idiot." Romano frowned, leaning forward to retrieve his own shirt.

America grinned as he buttoned his shirt. "Maybe." He conceded.

"No 'maybe', bastard. Try 'definitely." Romano pulled his own shirt on, face flushed and scowling. "I don't, I don't know what you were thinking. You, you should have waited." He paused to draw a hand across his eyes, and resumed buttoning his shirt, hands shaking. "_Idiot_. You're a fucking _idiot_, bastard. Your f-first time should have been _special_. You, you _wasted_ it."

"What? No I didn't." America protested, looking up from buttoning his shirtcuffs. "It _was_ special."

"No it_ wasn't_." Romano dug the heel of his palm into his eye, wiping it roughly, fumbling with his buttons. "It, it—"

"Yes it _was_." America insisted, reaching out to wrap his hand around Romano's wrist, tugging on it so Romano looked up at him. "It _was_ special, Romano."

"It was your _first time_, bastard." Romano argued, swiping at his cheek with his free hand, and sniffled. "I-it should have been with someone you _l-loved,_ idiot. Not, not—"

"Hey, hey." America soothed, pulling him closer and rubbing his shoulder. "Romano, calm down. It's okay."

"No it's not!" Romano yanked his wrist from America's grasp, pressing his face into America's chest. "It was your _virginity,_ bastard!"

America wrapped his arms around the distraught nation, rubbing his back. "Romano," he said seriously, "I consider myself lucky. I mean, think about it." He tipped Romano's chin up so he could look into his face. "How many nations have a good first time? How many _people?_" He frowned, wiping tears from Romano's cheek with the backs of his fingers. "Not many. I mean, when my brother lost his, it was awkward and embarrassing and he _still_ doesn't like to think about it. And that was with someone he actually _loved_." He sighed. "England's sucked, I know. France's was the stuff of _nightmares._ China and Russia don't even _remember_ theirs." He cupped Romano's face, adding earnestly, "But mine was... _amazing_. It was incredible, Romano, and it's all because of you. You were patient, and considerate, and thoughtful, and you made me feel incredible, and I'll never regret it. You _made_ it special, Romano. No-one else could have made me feel the way you did. It was special because it was with you. Okay?"

Romano sniffled, face still flushed. "Really?" He asked, voice rough.

"Really." America smiled. "No complaints here."

"Cheh." Romano pushed himself away, drying his eyes with his sleeve. "Of course not. I'm _damn_ good at what I do."

"I remember." America agreed, smiling. He turned and scooped their pants off the floor, tossing Romano his, chuckling as he pulled on his slacks. "My brother's gotta be _pissed_. I asked him to take notes for me while I ran to the bathroom. He probably thinks I ran out on him to grab a burger or something."

Romano snorted in amusement, buckling his belt, and grabbed his jacket off the floor.

"So, uh..." America started as he slipped into his shoes, buttoning his jacket. "since we didn't find your key and all, do you, uh...would you like to stay with me? I mean," he added hastily, not looking at Romano, "not for sex or anything, but, just so you have a place to stay."

"Uh," Said Romano unsurely, staring at him. He slid his hands into the pockets of his jacket, a nervous gesture, encountering something very familiar in the silk lining of his right pocket. Something thin, and hard, that felt like it should have been in the back pocket of his pants, maybe, or the floor of a closet. He frowned, surreptitiously pulling it out of his pocket and glancing down to verify that yes, that was his hotel key card.

"It's not far from here," America continued, tying his shoes, "we could walk. You could, uh, have the bed. I'll sleep on the couch." Shoes tied he stood, ruffling his hair, and smiled at Romano, trying not to look too hopeful.

Romano slipped the key back into his pocket, staring back at America, chewing his lip, thinking. He shouldn't, _they_ shouldn't. It's risky, so risky. Someone they know might see them. But the allure of walking the streets of England, together, _in public_, like this, with America looking like glorious, satisfied sex, and covered in the scent of _Romano_, wearing his marks under those rumpled clothes, is too much to resist. "Alright." He said, trying not to let the way America beamed, glowing like a little boy at Christmastime at his answer effect him, because it wasn't sweet or endearing and _it didn't mean anything,_ "Sounds good. Thanks."

"Cool." America grinned, shoving his hands in his pockets and bouncing on his toes a little. He jerked his head towards the door. "I, uh, guess we should get going then."

Romano nodded, heading for the door. "Don't read anything into this, bastard."

"I won't." America's grin turned amused, and he opened the door, gesturing for Romano to go first. "After you, Romano."

"This doesn't mean anything." Romano informed him as he exited.

America laughed as he followed him out, closing the closet door behind them. "I know, Romano. I know."

* * *

_AN:_ _He knows._


	7. Bei Mir Bistu Shein

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.**

_I wanted to get the whole night done in one chapter, but I've noticed when chapters get longer than 6k people have trouble remembering what happened in them. Or don't have time to read them all through. So I'll have to break it up into smaller parts. I know some of you can handle longer chapters no problem, but when you only have ten minutes/half an hour to read before bed/school/work it can be difficult, because when you get back to it you've probably lost your place. If FFnet ever adds placemarkers my chapters will probably get a lot longer, but until then I'll try and make things convenient for you!_

_This chapter, as well as the story in general, is devoted to sakerat, who listened to me rant for over an hour about moon rocks without complaint. The sign of a true friend. _

* * *

"I didn't drive, so we'll have to walk." America explains as they exit the building. "But it's not far from here, so it won't take long." He stops and turns to lock the door behind him. Romano frowns.

"You have the keys to England's conference building?"

America glances back at him as he finishes up. "Hm? Oh, yeah." The keys jingle as he slides them back into his pocket. "I usually end up working late, so England lets me have the keys so I can lock up when I'm done." He turns and heads off down the street. "France and Canada usually let me have their keys, too, when the meetings are there."

"Oh." Romano nods, falling into step next to him. They walk the streets in silence at first. It's not _quite_ dark, but it's getting there; helped along by the thick blanket of darkening clouds that hang low in the sky, heavy with the promise of the rain that England is known for. The sun may not have fully set yet but it's dark enough out that the ancient streetlights lining the pavement have been lit, though the dim, orange-yellow glow of the light they cast seems to emphasize the darkness rather than illuminate it.

And America is walking next to him, so close he can smell him, feel the heat against his shoulder where they're not-quite touching, except when they occasionally, casually, accidentally bump into each other; America's shoulder bumping his, the back of his hand brushing against America's, the fleeting touch of knuckles and fingers and sidelong glances they're pretending not to notice. As it grows darker they grow bolder; 'accidental' touches linger, glances are held and heated, until Romano deliberately draws his fingertips up the length of America's palm, and America's breath catches and his eyes flicker, and when Romano draws his fingers back down again and slides them in-between America's, America caresses the intimate, sensitive skin on the inside of Romano's wrist with his thumb in a slow, steady rhythm that makes Romano's head spin and his knees tremble, and he stops in his tracks, pushing America down one of the dark, narrow alleyways they've been walking past and up against the brick wall, grabbing his lapels and kissing him fiercely.

"I know what you're trying to do, bastard." He growls once they part, barely a fraction of a centimeter from America's lips. "It's not going to work."

"What?" America pants a little dizzily, craning his head for another kiss, but Romano pulls back, staying just out of reach, and hazy blue eyes flicker up to burning hazel ones to blink in confusion. "What? I—"

Romano tightens his grip on America's lapels, shaking him once as he growls firmly, "It's _not going to work_."

"Okay." America nods, eagerly meeting Romano for the next kiss. Slowly, Romano's grip on his lapels loosen, and his hands slide up to America's shoulders, his neck, 'til he's cupping his jaw with one and the other is gripping the back of America's neck, and America feels it's safe then to wrap his own arms around Romano's waist. Then Romano starts to grind against him, heated and fervent, and America presses his hand flat against Romano's lower back, urging him closer (although they're already pressed so close against each other that their clothes barely matter, 'cause they can feel _everything_): Romano's heart racing against his chest, every breath he's taking, and it feels like he can feel the blood rushing through Romano's veins and the electricity of Romano's thoughts as well as he can his own. Romano's tongue inside his mouth, stroking his own, feels like it's meant to be there and Romano's scent surrounds him and fills his nostrils and makes him hungry and dizzy, and Romano's in his ears and in his blood and filling his senses and it's _too intense, _"Romano," he gasps, pulling back from the kiss and lifting his head free. "Romano. Romano. Romano."

He's not sure if he's trying to get Romano's attention or just needs to say his name, but when Romano tries to catch his lips again he pulls his head sharply back, accidentally slamming it against the brick wall behind him, and the moment's sharp pain clears his head just enough for him to realise why he broke the kiss in the first place. "Romano," he pants, patting the small of Romano's back to get his attention, "stop. We have to stop." Romano slows and pulls back to look up at him, brows furrowed in bewilderment.

"What?" He pants, a little cross-eyed with pleasure and terribly confused. He can't remember ever having been asked to _stop _before. "_Why?"_

"'Cause, um," America leans his head back against the wall, screwing up his face with the effort of thought, trying to keep himself from grinding back against Romano's slow thrusts and failing, "I don't know." He admits, exhaling in a rush. "Oh!" He remembers, lifting his head to meet Romano's gaze. "Because I'm going to come in my pants if you don't."

"Oh." Romano blinks. And blinks again. "Oh." Another blink, as he tries to think past the haze in his brain. "Yeah, me too." He agrees, nodding. "We, we should stop."

"Yeah." America pants, nodding too.

Romano nods again, dropping his face onto America's shoulder. For a few moments the only sound in the alleyway is that of their laboured breathing as they both struggle to stop moving with each other. Romano groans. "If you want me to stop, bastard, you have to stop too."

"I'm, I'm trying," America says, voice strained. "You, _nh_, h-have to stop first." He whimpers.

_"Fuck."_ Romano swears. America's right, he has to stop first. He's the older one here, America doesn't know what the fuck he's doing. He has to take the lead. He's in charge here. _"Fuck. Fuck._ Okay. Okay." He struggles to stop, but his body has its own agenda in this. He forces himself to slow, but his body fights his mind, struggling to keep moving, making him feel like he's stuck in molasses. It really, _really_ doesn't help that America keeps moving with him. He's so fucking responsive. _Fuck_. "America," he gasps, squeezing the back of America's neck, "I need you to help me out here. Okay bastard?"

"Okay," America gasps, understanding where he's going, and his hands find Romano's hips, holding them perfectly still.

"Good." Romano nods shakily, dropping his head back onto America's shoulder. "Thanks." He adds, voice muffled.

"No problem." America nods, panting, and closes his eyes, although it's so dark in the alley it makes little difference. It's hard to think. Romano's still pressed intimately against him, pneumatic and warm, and Romano's breath is hot against his shoulder, and the soft, heated curve of the shell of Romano's ear is pressed against his jaw, and his cock is pulsing and aching and pressed against the inside of Romano's hip and abdomen and nestled against the hard length of Romano's and he can _feel_ Romano aching and pulsing too, and he knows Romano's aware of it and they're both hanging _right on the edge_, and it's kind of an exquisite sort of torture in a really amazing, wonderful way, and he feels so close to Romano, and he's pretty sure Romano's biting his shoulder, he can feel his suit jacket and shirt growing wet where the material's clenched between Romano's teeth. He can feel Romano vibrating with the effort of holding himself in check, and realises that pretty soon he's going to come just from the intensity of it all. "Romano," he gasps, finally, "this isn't working."

Romano makes a strangled sound of agreement, and spits out his jacket. "I know." He gasps, forehead pressed against America's shoulder.

"I'm going to come in a minute." America adds breathlessly. "And I'm pretty sure I'm starting to leak through my pants."

Romano nods, and lifts his head. "Me too." He pants. They both look down to confirm the state of their trousers, which is pretty pointless, because even if there was enough light to see by they're pressed too close together to see anything other than each other's collars.

"What're we going to _do?"_ America asks Romano, perplexed. "I can't walk like this. It hurts too much."

"I know." Romano agrees. "I can't either." They pause for a minute, realising with dismay the depths of the trouble they're in. They can't keep going and they can't walk away, not 'til these erections go down, and they both know that _isn't going to happen._ There's no way out. They'll be trapped in this dark alley in England _forever._

There's very little blood going to their brains at this time, so they may not be thinking entirely clearly.

"_Fuck."_ Romano says fervently, dropping his head onto America's shoulder. America groans in agreement, letting his head fall back onto the brick wall. Romano wracks his brain for answers. He's pretty sure there's a solution; something in the back of his mind is trying to tell him there's a simple way out of this if only he could _remember_, but it's so hard to _think_ with America pressed against him like this; breathing and warm and trembling and— he hears America swallow, hard, and something in his brain clicks_._ "Ah!" He exclaims, lifting his head as the revelation strikes him. "I know what we can do!"

"You do?" America asks, amazed and hopeful and a little impressed, because he can't think at _all_ right now.

"Yeah. Hang on. Oh, let go." Romano bats America's hand on his hip, and America obediently releases him. "Hang on." Romano moves back a little, pressing a hand in the middle of America's chest to hold him in place. "Stay there." He orders, moving down.

"W-what're you doing?" America asks, craning to see as Romano gets down on his knees, but Romano's unzipping his fly before he even finishes the sentence and he has his answer. He doesn't have time to process the idea before the cold night air is on his cock followed swiftly by slick, wet indescribable heat as Romano swallows him whole. His fingers flex into the brick behind him as his breath catches in his throat and his brain shorts out. The heat disappears from around his cock.

"What the fuck was _that?"_ He hears Romano ask through the hot, pulsing red haze in his brain.

"Nothing." America answers, shifting his fingers a little guiltily in the finger-shaped holes in the wall behind him. Romano pauses: America can tell he's not buying it, but his breath is ghosting over his cock, heating and cooling wet, aching, sensitive skin, and he screws up his face with the effort of not coming right there. But a little tendril of guilt curls through his chest, too. He hates lying, even by omission. "Wall." He admits, a little shamefacedly. He hadn't mean to do it, it'd been reflexive. He stiffens when Romano hums and engulfes his cock again, aroused and a little freaked out. He wants to thrust, his body is telling him to thrust, and fuck that feels _so_ good but he doesn't want to hurt Romano, and he didn't mean to break the wall, he lost control, and Romano's a _lot_ softer than brick and he usually has better control than that, but this is a new situation and he hasn't learned how to — his mind blanks as he comes, and all he's aware of is the tightening pulse of release like a supernova in his brain, and Romano's throat constricting around him as he swallows it all.

When his head finally clears he's sitting on the ground, back pressed against the wall, panting heavily. Romano's crouched on his haunches in front of him, a dark silhouette, but America can tell he's watching him with an odd expression.

"You gouged the fuck out of that wall, bastard." Romano says levelly, eyes flickering to the wall behind America and back. America twists his head 'round to see deep furrows he's dug into the brick, trailing down from where he was to half a foot or so above the ground where he sits.

"Oh." He says, a little weakly in the aftermath of his climax. "Whoops."

Romano ignores this, leaning forward to run one hand down the wall, feeling the depth of the gouges for himself. "Fuck." He breathes, disbelieving, and drops his hand. "Do you always do that when you get worked up?"

"Um... no." America admits. "It's just...that was pretty intense." He surreptitiously wipes his fingers on his slacks to get the brick dust off. "I'm not quite... " he pauses, looking for the way to phrase it, and settles for, "used to it yet."

Romano watches the action, frowning thoughtfully. "What, so...if you do this enough you'll stop doing that, bastard?" He asks, eyes flickering back up to America's face.

"Yeah, once I can adjust to it." America confirms, letting his hands drape on his thighs. He becomes aware that he's unzipped, still, and exposed to the cool night air, but in a strange way it feels really good, because even though he's soft and clean and dry now he can still feel Romano's mouth on his cock and remember what Romano did for him, and that was _amazing_. He can't help the smile tugging at his lips as he tucks himself back in and zips himself up, and looks up at Romano. "Can I kiss you now? I really want to kiss you."

"Mm," Romano agrees, wall forgotten, and leans forward, reaching a hand to slide behind America's head, cupping the base of his skull as they meet in a soft, languid kiss. Romano's lips and tongue and mouth are soft and firm, and there's a slightly musky, tangy, almost salty-sharpness overlaying the taste of Romano that America is becoming familiar with that he guesses is a result of what they've just done. His heart speeds up a little and he reaches for him, cupping his face in his palms, and tilts his head to delve deeper into his mouth, splaying his fingers through Romano's hair and stroking his temples with his thumbs, trying to drink him in as deeply as he can. Romano responds in kind, exhaling deeply through his nose in a sigh and tilting his own head to gain better access to America's mouth as well. He steadies himself with a hand on America's thigh, shifting his weight forward, balancing on the balls of his feet and releasing the back of America's neck to place his hand flat against the wall behind them to help support his weight.

Preoccupied with drinking each other in, neither notices the faint roll of thunder in the distance, nor the thickening scent of rain in the air.

When they part America licks his lips, and swallows in an attempt to compose himself and steady his voice. "That was amazing, Romano, thank you." He says sincerely. "Do I do you now?"

Romano pauses, reminded of the aching need between his own legs. He'd... _intended_ to take care of himself at the same time as America, but America had started gouging holes into the wall just as he'd been reaching for his zipper and that'd distracted him; and when he'd gotten back down to business he'd been too fascinated by what America was doing to the wall as a result of what he was doing to America to remember to attend to himself. It was kind of heady, knowing that he caused America to lose control and tear the fuck out of a_ brick wall_ in pleasure.  
But hadn't expected America to offer to return the favor. He's pretty sure America's completely inexperienced, and half expects the younger nation to retract the offer once he has a moment to think about it. "Do you want to?" he asks cautiously. "Have you ever done it before?"  
"No," America admits, and hesitates as it occurs to him that maybe Romano doesn't want him to because he doesn't have any experience. "Is, is that a problem?" He asks, a little embarrassedly. "I mean, I don't have to if you don't want me to. I, I just thought...I mean, you did it for me..." he trails off awkwardly, face warm in the darkness.  
"It's not a problem," Romano says, inwardly kicking himself for quite possibly pissing away his only opportunity to get his cock in America's mouth, "it's just, are you sure you want to?"  
"Yes?" America answers honestly, embarrassment having dissipated with Romano's response, and folds his legs underneath him, shifting up on his knees. "I'd like to. That is, if you don't mind?"  
"I don't mind." Romano admits warily, and stands, shifting his hand from behind America's head to rest on top of it, anticipation rising and buzzing under his skin. America's going to suck his cock. America _wants_ to suck his cock. He leans back against the wall behind him for support, bracing his legs a little apart. His fingers splay through America's hair, heart thudding in his chest as the blond shifts towards him. This is one fantasy he thought would never come true. Should he unzip himself? No, the moment will be sweeter if America does it for him; another indication that America's chosen to do this. He wants to savour this, and know America _wanted_ to do it.  
America's hand spreads gently against Romano's crotch, fingers probing to find his zipper in the darkness. He finds the tab and slowly pulls it down, slipping his fingers into the opening, carefully pulling Romano's hardened cock out. His fingers are warm, so warm. Romano's lips part at the touch, his eyes hooding, and he slides his hand to cup the back of America's head as his cock twitches in anticipation. America's hands are gentle and warm, cautious in part due to his inexperience, because he doesn't know how to handle someone else's member and doesn't want to be too rough. His fingers settle gently around the base, trailing lightly up to the tip, an innocent gesture that Romano knows is just America trying to find the head in the darkness so he can get started, but which he finds no less sweet and deeply sensual for its innocence and practicality.

His heart jumps and his breath catches when America's tongue, soft and wet and warm, lathes experimentally across the sensitive, weeping head of his cock as America tentatively licks him, testing. Then America mouths him, gently, softly closing his lips around the tip in butterfly light kisses, curious and exploring and innocently sensual, because he knows America isn't _trying_ to tease, he's just experimenting with the feel of him. He tries to hold still as America's fingers wander his shaft, his soft, warm mouth sliding over him, surrounding the head of his cock, slick, heated tongue probing and testing curiously, pulling back again to expose now-wet skin to cool night air, and engulfing him again to try once more, pushing a little further, taking him in a little deeper, sucking carefully and massaging the shaft in his mouth with his tongue, stroking what isn't in his mouth with his fingers.

He's a little clumsy and obviously inexperienced, but there's no hesitation in his actions. He's clearly fascinated by what he's doing; and Romano can tell that he's trying hard to make it good for Romano, and it's so fucking sweet he can't help the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, his heart warming even as his cock pulses with need and his loins ache with the desire to thrust into the slick, wet heat. He regrets the darkness deeply, suddenly, realizing that he wants nothing at the moment so much as to see America's face as he tastes and explores and learns him. He wants to watch as America wraps soft lips around his cock and takes him into the warm, wet cavern of his mouth; see his cheeks flush and his brows furrow in discovery and concentration and pleasure. He wants to see himself sliding between those lips into that sweet, eager mouth, coming out glistening and gleaming wet, over and over and over; to see America's hand working his shaft, those blue eyes glancing up at him through lowered lashes, hazy with honest desire and earnest desire to please. He wants to burn that image into his memory, to treasure it in his heart and remember that in this, too, he was America's _first_, and that America wanted it to be _him_.

The blunt head hits the back of his mouth and America pauses, taking his hand from shaft and taking a moment to adjust to the feeling of Romano's cock in his mouth, filling it with a hard, thick, living weight. Romano lifts both hands to America's face, needing to touch him, caressing his face and nose and brow, stroking his hair, running his fingers over America's lips, soft and sweet and wrapped around his cock. America's mouth turns up at the corners at Romano's touch, and he sighs, exhaling through his nose. The gust of warm air over the skin of the exposed length of his cock makes Romano smile, running his fingers almost affectionately through the blond's hair. "You're doing just fine, bastard." He murmurs, thinking that America might be getting nervous.  
That must be all the encouragement America needs because he pushes forward, suddenly, taking the whole of Romano down his throat in one go, and Romano panicks, because that feels _so good_ but the_ idiot is going to choke himself_.  
"Shit! America," he says shakily, tugging on America's hair to get his attention, heart racing, but America doesn't notice or hear him, which he can't really blame him for because he knows a cock down your throat tends to preoccupy one's attention, especially when you're not used to it, "America—"  
America swallows, reflexively, and tries to suck but ends up swallowing again; and Romano gasps and shudders, fighting not to thrust, _"Nngh!_ America!" He tries to pull out, 'cause he's going to come _any second_ —and doesn't America have a gag reflex? Oh right, England's food must have destroyed it— but his back is flush against the wall and there's nowhere to go but forward, so he thrusts a little, tugging on America's hair, hoping he'll get the hint. But America's preoccupied with the new experience of Romano's length filling his throat, and moves his head experimentally, shifting Romano inside him and _oh sweet fucking heaven_ that's good; and when America swallows again, humming interestedly at the sensation, Romano gives up and comes, hoping America will figure it out and pull away in time.  
To Romano's dismay America seems to have other ideas, though, and tries manfully to swallow. He manages okay for the first couple of swallows, but he can't keep up and starts to cough, wetly, around Romano's cock. Guilt wells up in Romano's stomach and he tries to pull the blond off; but America seems determined to follow through, stubbornly resisting —possibly just not noticing— Romano's attempts and managing a few more rough swallows, holding back his coughs for the time being. Finally Romano's done and America releases his semi-hard length, letting it slip from his mouth as Romano's legs give out and he slides down the wall to the ground.  
America coughs into his forearm, trying to clear his throat. "I-" he tries to say, voice hoarse, and coughs some more.  
Romano reaches for him, scowling as he pulls out his handkerchief and begins wiping the idiot off. "You idiot! You fucking idiot!" He scolds, getting the trickle of cum coming from America's nose, guilt and worry and anger churning in his stomach, "What the _fuck_ were you doing, trying to swallow the whole fucking thing? Were you trying to kill yourself? Do you want to _die?_ Are you trying to choke to death on my cock, bastard, is that it?"  
America coughs a little more, leaning his hands on his knees and letting Romano attend to him as he tries to catch his breath and clear his windpipe of cum.  
"Shit," Romano complains, wiping America's chin and mouth, "You really are a fucking idiot, you know that?"  
"I wanted to try swallowing it," America explains roughly, coughing a little, and clears his throat. "You swallowed it. But, I didn't get it all." He admits.  
"I know what the fuck I'm doing." Romano scolds, swiping at America's mouth again although it's already clean, and fingercombing the hair out of his face. "You can't swallow straight out of the gate, idiot. It takes practice." He stuffs his handkerchief back into his pocket, grabbing America's chin and turning his head this way and that to examine his face, though all he can really see in the dark is a shadowed silhouette. America pulls his head from Romano's grasp, batting his hand away.  
"I'm fine, Romano, really." He reassures, voice still a little hoarse, and coughs into his hand. "But it's sweet of you to worry." He adds between coughs, smiling.  
"I'm not fucking sweet," Romano growls, "and I'm not _worried_, I just, don't want to tell everyone you died choking on my come."  
America laughs and coughs a little at the same time. "Oh man, that'd be embarrassing." He chuckles, amused. "Still, seeing as how many nations hate my guts at the moment you might get a party." He sniffs, wiping his nose as he grins. "You'd be a hero."  
"Shut the fuck up, that's not fucking funny." Romano snaps, all the more pissed off because it's not entirely untrue.  
"Ahh," America sighs, still grinning. "Did it feel okay though? It wasn't too bad or anything?"  
"No, it was fine." Romano admits, settling down a little. "Aside from where you tried to _kill yourself."_ He grabs the back of America's head, pulling him in for a kiss. "You're a fucking idiot." he murmurs against his mouth.

"Mm, probably." America agrees between kisses, smiling. "You know, it's weird." He turns aside for a second to cough a bit, before returning to kissing Romano. "It tastes a bit like wine."

"What?" Romano's brows furrow, and he reaches up to hold America's head still so he can nibble his lower lip without pulling on it if America moves unexpectedly, "Oh. Yeah. Everyone's is a little different."

"Yeah?" America murmurs, holding still and letting Romano do his thing and enjoying the attention. He likes the way Romano nips and bites, teeth grazing gently over skin followed by the caress of a warm tongue, or gripping and tugging, firm but not painful. "Interesting. Why's that?"

"How the fuck should I know?" Romano responds, sliding his hands up into America's hair and tilting his head to kiss him properly. "Body chemistry, or something."

"Interesting." America repeats, and loses his tongue in Romano's mouth for awhile. "What's mine taste like?" He asks when they surface, although he has a pretty good idea, since he can taste it on Romano.

"Hamburgers." Romano deadpans, and America laughs, meeting Romano for another long kiss."Mm, hey." He hums softly once they part again. "You're not zipped up yet, right?"

"No," Romano admits. "Why?"

"Can I touch you?" America murmurs against his lips.

Romano's brows furrow. "Why?"

America shrugs a shoulder. "I just ...want to touch you. See what it's like. Can I? You don't have to say yes."

"Well...okay," it's an unusual request, but Romano doesn't see the harm, "I guess it's okay. Just don't break anything, okay bastard? I'm-"

"Alot softer than brick, I know." America smiles, reaching for him. "I'll be careful, Romano, I promise." His fingers meet Romano's sternum, just below his breastbone, and he trails them down over Romano's stomach, over the buttons and folds of the Italian's jacket, slowing when he touches the bare skin of Romano's lower abdomen where his waistband is unbuttoned, until he finds Romano's softened cock. He touches it softly, almost reverently, caressing it with the backs of his fingers, marvelling at the softness of the skin. It's so soft, soft as silk- no, softer, because silk has a roughness to it that Romano's skin doesn't; it's soft as whispers, soft as warm summer breezes kissing bare skin. He's never felt anything like it; his own doesn't count, and his feels different than Romano's anyway, which is part of why he wanted to try this. He slides his fingers underneath, supporting it, feeling the soft, pliable weight and warmth, and draws his thumb down the top. It's unbelievably soft and delicate, yet a short while ago it was hard and smooth and thick and heavy, filling his mouth and throat and grinding against his own.

Romano bites his lip, heart rate climbing, unsure what to do with himself in this situation. It's not that he's _scared_ or anything— he feels oddly safe, in fact— it's just...America's handling him so carefully and gently, and he's not used to it, and it's making him feel... weird. He's not used to anyone touching him so intimately without sexual intent. But America's touch is clearly innocent, and it's...it's...it's a little unsettling. He's not sure how to handle it, or how to respond, or if he _should_ respond, or if he should just sit still and not fuck it up. Because he doesn't want it to stop, exactly, either, even if it makes him feel weird and he doesn't know how to deal with it. So he sits as still as he can, focusing on the feeling of America feeling him and trying not to do anything that might make him stop.

After a while America lets the soft length slip, gently, from his fingers, reaching down a little further and sliding his fingers underneath Romano's balls, feeling their weight resting in the curve of his fingers. These, too, are soft, though in a slightly different way, and less changing; but also intimately part of Romano. He presses his hand to Romano's groin, cupping everything, fascinated by the soft heat and delicateness of the weight held in his palm. He's struck by the brilliant complexity, in form and function, the simple genius of its design; how sensitive and delicate, yet resilient this multipurpose organ is. How integral it is to daily function, and interpersonal interaction. How much this, all of this, has changed his life. How all of _Romano_ has changed him, has had such a profound effect on his life in such a short time.

There's no going back.

And he doesn't regret it.

"Wow." America says finally in tones of awe, and Romano can tell he's smiling like an idiot, and feels his face heat up in the darkness. America leans forward to nuzzle his nose, draw his lips across Romano's, and buries his face in the crook of Romano's neck, still cupping him. "Wow." He repeats a little giddily, like he's just discovered something incredible. Romano doesn't know how to respond to that, but he feels it's safe to move, now, so he places his hand on top of the one cupping him, and brings his other hand up to cradle the back of America's head, threading his fingers through his hair. He can feel America smiling against his neck. "It's hard to believe that just a little while ago you were _inside_ me." Romano's face heats up, and his heart skips a beat. He tightens his hold over America's hand on him and on the back of America's neck, and America nuzzles into his neck in response.

"You know," America tells him after a few moments, his voice warm and low and sweet and rumbling into Romano's skin and hot against his neck, and Romano's stomach and his heart do this funny little warm twisty thing that kind of hurts, "I've been to the moon. I walked on it, and touched its face, with only a thin layer of fabric between me and the vacuum of space; and I looked up and saw this big, beautiful planet we live on glowing blue amid all the stars of the cosmos. I've done all kinds of things that were amazing and wonderful and fascinating, but this is still one of the most incredible things that's ever happened to me." He shifts, pulling his hand from Romano's and wrapping his arms around Romano's waist in a hug. "Thank you, Romano." He adds sincerely.

Romano wraps his arms around America's neck, his chin resting on America's shoulder, and says nothing. His heart kind of aches, for some reason.

After a few minutes there's another soft roll of thunder, and afterwards America shifts his hands to Romano's waist. "We should probably get going. It's going to rain."

"Yeah." Romano agrees, releasing him, and tucks himself in, zipping himself up as America stands. America reaches a hand down to help him up, and he takes it, hauling himself to his feet and pausing to brush alleyway dirt off his clothes once he's standing. America waits for him to finish, and leads the way out of the alley.

* * *

_AN: More to come. _


End file.
